Godzilla vs Gigan: Dawn of the Tyrant
by JJ Rust
Summary: A power mad President is determined to stay in office. He takes control of Gigan and uses the monster to attack American cities, throwing the country into crisis and paving the way for martial law, and ultimately a dictatorship. Now Godzilla, along with Major Jeff Yamagata and his squadron of Super X pilots, must not only stop Gigan, but fight for America's freedom!
1. Chapter 1

President Horacio Zamora hated David Stanton. He hated looking at him, hated speaking to him, hated being in the same room with him.

Most of all, he hated the fact that a month from now Stanton would sit in the Oval Office instead of him.

"You are completely missing the point of the Civilian Emergency Mobilization Corps," Zamora said, forcing himself to speak in a calm voice. "The average citizen yearns to help others, but sometimes is unsure how. CEMCOR provides them with an outlet to utilize their particular skills during a natural disaster or other emergency."

Stanton, a lanky hawk-faced man from Texas, grunted. "The Red Cross does the same thing. So does the Salvation Army and a host of other organizations. And they do a better job of it, I might add."

"CEMCOR has better organization."

"You mean it's under government control, because God forbid the people of this country should be able to do anything on their own."

Zamora clenched his jaw. _When the American people are allowed to act on their own, they elect a gun-loving redneck shithead like you._

"The government is better equipped to properly respond to incidents like hurricanes, forest fires or monster attacks."

"In my experience with the federal government," said President-elect Stanton, "the only thing they're good at is making problems worse, which is why we're in the mess we're in today."

"And you think abolishing CEMCOR will solve this so-called budget crisis?"

Stanton gave a slight, frustrated shake of the head. "The American people elected me to fix the mess you and others have caused here in Washington. We have to reform necessary programs to make them more efficient, create a more business friendly atmosphere that lets companies expand and hire more people and reduce the number of people on government assistance, and eliminate programs that are unnecessary."

"Are you saying that helping those who suffer because of a disaster not of their making is unnecessary?" asked Zamora.

Stanton gave an audible sigh. "Like I said before, we have plenty of agencies that deal with disaster relief, and many of them don't have the sort of controversies hanging over them like CEMCOR."

"What sort of controversies?"

"Rumors of stockpiling weapons in the event of civil unrest."

Zamora softly chuckled. "You've been reading too many paranoid posts on Facebook."

"Then what about the questionnaires you give to prospective volunteers? My people obtained copies from CEMCOR recruiting offices in Los Angeles and Chicago. They ask people what radio talk shows they listen to, their party affiliation, how many guns they own, what political organizations they belong to. What does any of that have to do with helping people?"

"I admit." Zamora raised his hand in a reassuring gesture. "Some of the workers in those offices can be a bit overzealous in their recruiting efforts. CEMCOR is a large entity. Some things fall through the cracks."

"From what I hear," replied Stanton, "Anyone who doesn't support you is not welcome in CEMCOR."

Zamora forced a laugh. "Mister Stanton, please don't tell me you don't believe the conspiracy theorists who say CEMCOR is my own private army."

"No, I don't believe that, Mister President. What I do believe is that CEMCOR is a needless expense. I promised to cut wasteful spending and CEMCOR, the way I see it, is as wasteful as you can get. So I suggest you tell all the folks there that, come January 20th, they'll have to find somewhere else to volunteer, because as soon as I take office, I'm abolishing CEMCOR."

Zamora narrowed his eyes at Stanton. He then drew a deep breath. "I know our time is almost up. I will bring materials with me for our next transition meeting Thursday. Statistics, testimonials, to show all the good that CEMCOR has done. That is sure to change your mind."

"I doubt it."

Zamora fought down his fury, a hard thing to do in the presence of a man so stubborn and arrogant.

_How the hell did he ever get elected?_

He knew the answer to that. Stanton and his trailer park trash followers managed to convince enough racists to get out and vote last month.

Zamora rose from his leather swivel chair and walked around the wooden, ornate Resolute Desk. Stanton also got to his feet. Zamora forced himself to stick out his hand for the President-elect to shake.

In his mind, Zamora pictured his hand going to Stanton's throat and choking the life out of this son-of-a-bitch.

Once Stanton left the Oval Office, Zamora walked up to the French windows behind his desk. The bulletproof glass reflected his round, dark face and slender frame. He folded his arms and stared out at the South Lawn, covered in about three inches of snow that fell overnight.

One more month. One more month and he would have to leave the White House, leave the Presidency.

Leave behind the power he wielded.

"Damn you, Pruitt." He cursed the Vice President, as he had at least ten times a day every day since the election. Had Elliot Pruitt won, Zamora could have pulled the man's strings for at least another four years, be the power behind the throne, continue to advance his agenda.

Despite all the stumping he'd done for his VP, he couldn't overcome one simple fact. Pruitt was an idiot! Even Zamora's most ardent supporters knew it. While they still voted for him, most independents and other fence straddlers didn't. Because of that, a redneck would be sitting at his desk a month from now, undoing all the progress he had made in his two terms. All his other ideas, legislation to make it possible for obese people to sue soda and junk food manufacturers, stricter gun control measures, making home schooling illegal and blanket amnesty for all undocumented citizens, would never see the light of day.

_Only if I let it._

It all depended on whether his friend could come through for him. Unfortunately, he'd been working on that little project of his for three years. With a month left before Stanton took the Oath of Office, Zamora figured he'd have to go with his back-up plan. He had serious doubts it would work, but what choice did he have?

Zamora spent the next half-hour reviewing requests for Presidential pardons and his speech before an educators' union gathering in Maryland tomorrow when his phone rang.

"Yes, Regina?"

"Mister President, I have Mister Howell on the secure line."

Zamora sat up straighter. A jolt of energy went through him. "Put him through."

"Yes, Mister President."

There was a click on the line. Seconds later a nasally voice came from the earpiece. "Mister President?"

"I'm here, Darrell. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Better than fine. I'm excited."

Anticipation grew within Zamora. "It sounds like you have good news to report."

"I do. My project was a success. You can use the results however you see fit."

Zamora smiled. He'd been waiting three years to hear those words.

"Excellent, my friend. I owe you much."

"No, Mister President. I'm the one who owes you everything."

"Regardless, you shall be rewarded. Come to the White House tomorrow morning at ten-thirty."

"I'm already booked on a red-eye to Dulles. I'll see you tomorrow, Mister President."

Zamora hung up the phone. He flattened his palms on the Resolute Desk.

Stanton was wrong. On January 20th, he would not be sitting in Oval Office.

_I will still be sitting here. I will be sitting here for a long, long time._

**XXXXX**

The creak of the door brought Major Jeff Yamagata fully awake. Eyes wide open, he pushed himself up and looked to his right.

A slender brunette with a clear, round face entered his bedroom. She had her hair in a bun and wore black horn-rimmed glasses, giving her that hot librarian look.

"Rise and shine," Captain Nicole Fox, US Air Force, beamed at him, holding up a glass of orange juice.

"Morning." Yamagata threw off his covers and sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes flickered between the orange juice and his girlfriend's face. "Now this is what I always wanted. A woman to serve my every need."

He reached out for the orange juice, only to have Nicole take a couple of steps back and give him a cross look. "I brought you this out of the goodness of my heart. Next time you can get it your damn self."

Yamagata forced a frown. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm very lucky to have a wonderful girlfriend like you."

"Now you're overdoing it." Nicole handed him the juice and kissed him on the cheek. "I'd drink that fast and get a move on. The rest of your family's already up and about."

"Roger that." He raised the glass to Nicole and quickly drained it.

With a parting smile, Nicole exited his bedroom.

Yamagata set the empty glass on the nightstand and got down on the floor for his morning routine of 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups. Later on he'd go for a run and practice some karate moves. It helped keep his 5'9 frame as lean and firm as it had been during his baseball days in high school and college.

After a quick shower, he put on blue jeans and a red and gold US Marine Corps sweatshirt and headed downstairs. He glanced at the framed photos on the wall along the staircase. Two were of him, one wearing Marine dress blues, the other in the white and blue uniform of the San Jose State baseball team. Another photo showed his father in Desert BDUs standing next to an M1 Abrams tank.

Yagamata's eyes lingered on one photo, a black and white one of a short, serious-looking Japanese man wearing a helmet, combat fatigues and holding an M1 rifle. He gave a slight nod to the photo, as he always did whenever he passed it.

Corporal Jiro Yamagata, his great-grandfather, a member of the famed 442nd Regimental Combat Team of Japanese-American soldiers, and Yamagata's inspiration for joining the military.

When he entered the dining room, a middle-aged Caucasian woman with coiffed black hair looked up at him and smiled.

"Well, look who decided to join us," said Madeline Yamagata. "I figured you'd be the first one at the table. You're usually such an early riser."

"I'm on leave, Mom. I felt like sleeping in a bit."

"It's never good to break routine," said man with a tan, wrinkled face and shock white hair. "Even when you are on vacation."

"Oh, come on, Dad." Mom looked at Grandpop Yamagata. "Cut Jeff a little slack. He spends all his time fighting monsters."

"Not all the time. The last monster we stopped was Rodan in New Orleans, and that was seven months ago."

Nicole put down her toast and gave him an incredulous look. "That _you_ stopped? From what I remember, it was Godzilla who showed up and sent Rodan packing."

The corners of Yamagata's mouth curled. He glanced at Grandpop, then Mom, then back at Nicole. "We helped."

A small woman with short dark hair and glasses laughed and patted Nicole on the shoulder. "I knew there was a reason I liked this one. She will keep you in line."

"Grandmom, who says I need to be kept in line?"

"All men need a good woman to keep them in line, otherwise they'd get in trouble all the time."

"Thank you, Grandmom Yamagata." Nicole turned to him with a triumphant smile.

Yamagata grunted and went into the kitchen, where his father took out a bowl of oatmeal from the microwave. "Sounds like your grandmother's given the seal of approval to Nicole." He lowered his voice. "If you don't marry this one she may disown you."

"C'mon, Dad." Yamagata got a bowl and a box of corn flakes from the cabinet. "Nicole and I have been together barely a year."

"Your grandmother and grandfather dated for eight months before he proposed to her."

"Good for them." Yamagata went to the refrigerator and opened it. He stared at the milk, not reaching for it. He stood there thinking, about Nicole, about a future with her. There was no doubt in his mind he loved her. She was a beautiful, intelligent and energetic woman, always fun to be around. But marriage? He figured he should give it a little longer before seriously considering it, especially since he knew more than a few military couples who ultimately divorced.

Much of the breakfast conversation dealt with plans for Christmas, just three days away, and Yamagata's current assignment with the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron, nicknamed the Beastmasters. They flew the MF-3 Excalibur, a version of the Japanese Self Defense Force's primary anti-kaiju aircraft, the Super X-III.

"So what do you do when you're not flying around the world shooting monsters?" asked Grandmom.

"Lots of things. Training, maintenance, intelligence briefings on potential threats."

"The military's not all about shooting things, Mom," said Dad. "I can't tell you how many mind-numbingly boring days I had in the Army, especially when I was over in The Gulf. I spent four months waiting around in the desert, then suddenly one night I'm charging over the border into Iraq. I'll say this, though, when you have enemy shells and anti-tank missiles coming at you, boring looks pretty darn good."

"Boring also looks good when you're face-to-face with something like Destoroyah."

"Amen to that." Nicole reached over and gently clutched his Yamagata's arm.

He smiled at her, recalling that battle off the San Diego coast. They had lost one Excalibur and Yamagata's had been severely damaged. If it hadn't been for Godzilla's arrival and a lucky shot with the Excalibur's freeze ray, he wouldn't be here enjoying the holiday season with his family.

Once everyone finished breakfast, Mom started clearing the table. "So what do you two have planned today?" She looked at Yamagata and Nicole.

"We're going to drive up to Spokane," he answered. "I thought I'd show Nicole Riverfront Park and the Centennial Trail before we did some Christmas shopping."

"Sounds like fun. Just remember your sister will be getting in this afternoon and we'll be eating dinner at five."

"We'll be back before then," Yamagata reassured her. He was anxious to see his younger sister Jade, an Army logistics officer at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Alaska. Because of their different duties, get togethers were few and far between for them.

"Wait till you see the Spokane Falls," he said to Nicole as they left the dining room. "Okay, they're nowhere near as big as Niagara Falls, but it's still pretty cool to see, and -"

The ring of his cell phone interrupted him. He removed it from his clip and stared at the screen. His face stiffened when he saw the name.

Gen. Griffin, his CO.

"I don't like that look," said Nicole.

Yamagata didn't reply. He glanced at Nicole, then put the phone to his ear. "Major Yamagata here, Sir."

"Major, I'm sorry to have to cut your leave short, but there's been an incident."

"What happened?"

"The entire _Abraham Lincoln _Carrier Strike Group was destroyed by Gigan."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Chapter 2

"This is a hell of a way to spend Christmas."

Yamagata looked over to the source of the comment. Lieutenant Mike "Gov" McGovern scowled as he stared out the Excalibur's windows at the blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Gov."

Yamagata eased the control stick right. The black, oblong aircraft with swept wings, a V-shaped tail and a sloped nose turned south and began another racetrack search pattern. Just like all the other ones he'd done over the past three hours, he found no sign of Gigan.

No one had seen the monster since it destroyed the _Lincoln _carrier group two days ago. Yamagata figured one of the many aircraft and ships searching for Gigan would have spotted it by now, or it would have come ashore to wreck one city after another. If he learned anything about kaiju, it was when they got a wild hair up their scaly asses, they didn't just commit one attack and vanish. They went on a rampage. Especially in the case of Gigan. Every time that ugly bastard showed up, some alien race was controlling it.

Dread grew within Yamagata. Bad enough another giant monster threatened the US, but they also had to worry about an alien invasion.

This would not be a fun Christmas. He could feel it.

They flew back and forth over the Atlantic for another two hours, with nothing to show for it, when they were recalled. Another Excalibur, codename Beastmaster Two, would continue the search. Yamagata felt that Lieutenant Ty "Blade" Sharpe and his crew would have the same luck they did. Meaning none.

Yamagata flew south for 150 miles before turning west toward the Florida coast. The skyline of Jacksonville soon came into view.

"Look at that." McGovern pointed to I-10 leading out of the city.

A line of vehicles stretched for miles. None of them moved. The same scene was repeated on I-95 heading north. From what Yamagata had seen on the news, every major highway in every big city along the Eastern Seaboard looked that way. The _Lincoln _carrier group had been sunk about 60 miles off the coast of Norfolk. Many people feared Gigan would attack their city next and wanted to get the hell out of there. All they ended up doing was creating nightmarish traffic jams. Tens of thousands had already abandoned their vehicles and struck out on foot. It made Yamagata think of World War II documentaries he'd seen of civilians fleeing from the German and Japanese armies.

"It looks like a lot of people are going to have a suckass Christmas," he said.

The Excalibur continued west until it reached Eglin Air Force Base, where the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron had forward deployed. Yamagata parked the aircraft on the tarmac, got out and did a few stretches. Nearly six hours in an ejection seat, even one as comfortable as the Mk16, still left him feeling stiff.

McGovern climbed down the access ladder and also stretched. Right behind him came a dark-haired man with a small but firm build. Staff Sergeant Andy Caputo, the Excalibur's sensor and systems specialist.

"You can stretch all you want," he said. "Me, I'm gonna hit the latrine."

"That was going to be my next stop, Sergeant," Yamagata.

The trio made a beeline for the maintenance division headquarters, the closest building with a latrine. Once they took care of business there, they walked to the mess hall. Yamagata opened the glass door and saw a tall burly man in a green and gray pixel Airman Battle Uniform approaching them.

"Sirs." Master Sergeant Luis Hernandez, Air Force Security Forces, saluted.

"Master Sergeant." Yamagata returned the salute, as did McGovern. "How are you today?"

"I'd be better if you gentlemen would find Gigan and blow that ugly SOB to hell."

"So would we all," replied McGovern.

Hernandez grunted. "Damn thing shit all over my Christmas plans. I was actually gonna get to spend time with my kids. Now my ex is probably gonna tell 'em I'm the worst dad in the world."

"What, she doesn't understand there's a giant monster lurking somewhere off the East Coast?" said Caputo.

"My ex-wife isn't the understanding type."

"I hate to say it, Sarge," said Yamagata, "but you're in the same boat as millions of other people. Gigan's ruined Christmas for just about everyone."

"No doubt about that, Sir. Just do me a favor. When you see that cocksucking alien freak, put a missile in it for me."

"Trust me, we're going to put a lot of missiles in it."

Hernandez smiled. "That's what I want to here. Good hunting."

The big master sergeant exited the building while Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo headed into the mess. Being mid-afternoon there were a handful of people in there. The cooks had left out trays of sandwiches and bowls of potato chips. The trio loaded up their plates, got their drinks and sat at a table near the front of the mess. A TV attached to the wall was tuned to the FOX News Channel. Yamagata just took bite out of his roast beef and cheddar sandwich when a gorgeous blonde reporter appeared on screen. The graphic beneath her read, EGLIN AIR FORCE BASE, VALPARAISO, FL.

"Hey, check it out." McGovern pointed. "We're on TV."

"Two days after the sinking of the carrier _Lincoln _and its escorts, the military is still no closer to finding Gigan," said the reporter. "Base officials have told us while there have been several large sonar contacts from the Florida Keys to the coast of Maryland, none of them turned out to be the monster. Now, I have spoken with General William Griffin the commander of the First Joint Special Combat Squadron, which deals exclusively with attacks by giant monsters. He expects their search for Gigan to yield better results as more service members report for duty. With Christmas tomorrow, many military men and women stateside were on leave for the holidays. They now have to travel from different parts of the country to report to their units, and getting to those units won't be easy as almost every major highway along the East Coast is jammed with people fleeing large cities for fear Gigan may attack."

"Mm-mm." McGovern leaned back and smiled at the TV. "Now that is one hot reporter babe. And lucky her, she's right here at Eglin."

"Lucky her?" Caputo gave him a quizzical look.

"Hell yeah, lucky her, 'cause as soon as I'm done eating, I'm gonna go find her and offer my services as tour guide. Show her our Excaliburs, the control tower, the BOQs." McGovern referred to the Bachelor Officer Quarters. "Or at least, one BOQ in particular." He waggled his eyebrows.

"And what are you going to do when she laughs in your face?" Yamagata asked with a grin.

"C'mon, Ninja." McGovern used Yamagata's call sign. "Don't tell me you don't want to tap that hot ass."

"I'd think very, very hard about how you answer that question," said a female voice behind him. "Your life depends on it."

Yamagata turned around. Nicole stood before him, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

He turned back to McGovern and proclaimed, "Why would I want to be with a network news reporter when I already have the most beautiful, intelligent and wonderful girlfriend in the world?"

Nicole groaned. "Could you be any worse at faking sincerity?"

McGovern and Caputo chuckled as Nicole sat next to Yamagata.

"So I heard you guys had no joy in your search." Nicole swiped a couple of chips from Yamagata's plate.

"The only thing we saw out there was lots of water," said McGovern. "How about you? Your EW people have any luck finding a control signal for Gigan?" He used the acronym for Electronic Warfare.

Nicole shook her head. "We've had the same luck as you guys. It makes me think that maybe whoever's controlling Gigan is lying low for now."

"But why?" Yamagata turned to her. "Why attack the _Lincoln_ carrier group and just go quiet? Why not hit us before our forces can mobilize or before people start evacuating the cities? Then they'd get mass casualties and little chance for a counter-attack. Not doing that doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe they want to hit us big time on Christmas," Caputo suggested. "Maybe they know it's a big holiday for us. They might think an attack on that day would really demoralize us."

"We can spend the rest of the day speculating," said Nicole. "The problem is, who the hell knows how aliens think? What doesn't make sense to us might make perfect sense to them?"

"If it is aliens." McGovern took a quick sip of his coffee. "It could be another country that found a way to control Gigan. Or maybe no one's controlling it. Maybe it got loose from some alien arsenal and is destroying stuff on its own."

"I don't know what scares me more," said Yamagata. "Someone or something controlling Gigan, or that thing acting on its own accord."

Silence hung over the table for several seconds before Nicole finally broke it. "There's just too much we don't know, and we're probably not going to learn anything until we get lucky and find Gigan."

McGovern barked out a short, sardonic laugh. "I don't know if 'lucky' is the word I'd pick if we do come across Gigan."

Nicole looked at him with a slight frown. "You're right. Poor choice of words."

She got to her feet. "Well, I better get something to eat before -"

Klaxons blared throughout the mess hall. A voice blasted from the P/A system.

"ALL PERSONNEL TO ACTION STATIONS! ALL PERSONNEL TO ACTION STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL! FIRST JOINT SPECIAL COMBAT SQUADRON CREWS AND SENIOR STAFF REPORT TO ADMIN BUILDING IMMEDIATELY!"

Yamagata tore one last bite out of his sandwich before he rushed for the door. McGovern, Caputo and Nicole were right behind him.

They pounded out of the mess building. Men and women dashed around the base. Humvees sped along the roads, some armed with machine guns or surface-to-air missiles.

When they reached the administration building, they ran into the mission briefing room. Yamagata looked around the horseshoe-shaped auditorium with its stadium-style seats. In the front row he saw the crew from Beastmaster Three getting settled.

"Did we find Gigan?" he asked a slim, narrow-faced man with short dark hair.

"We must've," answered Captain Glenn "Burner" Ashby, USAF, the pilot of Beastmaster Three. "Why else would they hit the panic button?"

Yamagata just sat down when a stout man with receding blond hair walked onto the stage.

"Ten-hut!" shouted Nicole.

Everyone in the room came to attention as Major General William Griffin walked to the center of the stage.

"As you were." He waved everyone back to their seats, then turned to a female Navy petty officer with a computer set up in the corner of the room. "Are we connected to Beastmaster Two?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Put them on screen."

One of the HD screens to the left flickered to life. It showed a lean black man with a round face and a flight helmet with the word "Blade" inscribed on it. Next to him was a boyish, fair-skinned man with a helmet that read "Menace." Behind them sat a third man of average height and weight.

"Mike Hotel One to Beastmaster Two," said Griffin. "Do you read?"

"Beastmaster Two reads five-by-five," replied Lieutenant Ty "Blade" Sharpe, US Navy.

"All right," Griffin turned back to the men and women in the audience. "This is going to be a quick briefing, so pay attention, because I don't have time to repeat myself."

Yamagata and the others got out their iPads as a computer generated map of Florida appeared on the main screen.

"Approximately twenty-five minutes ago," Griffin began, "we lost all contact with the Coast Guard cutter _Gallatin _fifty miles off the coast of Brunswick, Georgia."

A red X appeared on the map.

Griffin continued. "Ten minutes later, the submarine _USS Pasadena _engaged a large underwater contact eight miles south of _Gallatin's _last known position. Shortly after, we lost contact with the _Pasadena _as well."

"Gigan, Sir?" asked Yamagata.

"It would seem so. We have a Navy P-3 Orion on station tracking it. The contact's last known position was here." Griffin pointed to the map. The letters S-10, for contact designation Sierra 10, appeared off the coast of the Florida/Georgia border. "The destroyer _USS Nitze_ and two Coast Guard cutters are on an intercept course to Sierra Ten. We're also scrambling Air Force, Navy and Marine aircraft to converge on the target area. That includes the First JSCS. Beastmasters One and Three will rendezvous with Beastmaster Two over Cumberland Island, then proceed to this point here." A small green circled appeared on the screen. "Twenty miles off the coast of Jacksonville. This is where we expect Sierra Ten to be when you arrive. The _Nitze_ will coordinate all combat operations."

"What if this thing comes ashore?" asked Lieutenant Ashby. "Do we have anything to take it on?"

"The Florida National Guard has a few Strykers and HIMARS mobile rocket launchers stationed around Jacksonville. Getting more there has been tough with the roads and highways clogged with civilian traffic. The closest armored support we have is at Fort Stewart, Georgia, and they still have personnel en route from all over the country. The last I heard, it might not be until tomorrow that they start to move out."

"Tomorrow's going to be too late," said Yamagata. "So I guess it's up to us to stop Gigan."

"Affirmative, Major." Griffin nodded to him, then turned to Nicole. "Captain Fox."

"Yes, Sir."

"If Gigan's on the move, whoever or whatever is controlling it has to be putting out some kind of signal. We have Rivet Joint en route to the area." Griffin referred to the USAF's standard signal intelligence aircraft. "Coordinate with them. If there's a controlling signal for Gigan, we should be able to detect it and hopefully trace it to the source."

"Yes, Sir."

"Excalibur crews, your flight plans should be downloaded to your iPads. We'll feed you the latest intel on Sierra Ten as soon as it becomes available. Good luck and good hunting. Dismissed."

Everyone rose. Yamagata turned to Nicole and mouthed, "I love you."

She smiled and did the same. Worry showed in her eyes.

Yamagata put it out of his mind. He hustled out of the briefing room with the other Excalibur crew members. Humvees waited outside the admin building to drive them to the runway and their aircraft.

After rushing through the pre-flight checklist, the tower cleared Yamagata's Excalibur for takeoff.

"Let's go kill us a kaiju and try to salvage some kind of Christmas." McGovern stuck out his fist.

"I'm down with that, Gov." Yamagata gave him a fist bump.

"Fist bump in spirit from the back, Sirs," said Caputo.

Both Yamagata and McGovern gave him thumbs up. Yamagata then throttled up. The Excalibur's engines whined as the jet rolled down the runway faster and faster. Soon it was airborne, winging its way east, to fight one of the most powerful monsters the human race had ever known.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	3. Chapter 3

Yamagata saw jets swarming in the distance. Marine Corps and Navy F/A-18 Hornets and F-35 Lightning IIs. Air Force F-22 Raptors. Florida Air National Guard F-15 Eagles. He counted roughly two dozen fighters in all.

He would have liked to have seen more. A lot more. He also would have liked for Godzilla to be here. Or Mothra. Or both.

_We just have to go with what we've got._

"Link established with _Nitze _CIC," reported Sergeant Caputo.

"Patch it through to my helmet," ordered Yamagata as he kept the MF-3 Excalibur straight and level over the Atlantic. The other two Excaliburs flown by Lieutenant "Blade" Sharpe and Captain "Burner" Ashby flew behind him.

The helmet-mounted display showed a radar image of the battlespace. Jets flew in racetrack patterns in groups of twos and fours. High above them circled a Navy P-3 Orion. Below the destroyer _Nitze_ and the USCG cutters _Thetis _and _Vigilant _plied the waters.

There was no sign of Gigan.

"Caputo, can you give me a sonar reading?" asked Yamagata.

"Coming up, Major."

Seconds later the radar screen in Yamagata's HMD was replaced by another screen showing wavy green lines that congealed into a large blob.

"Holy shit," said McGovern. "That is one big-ass target."

"Three guesses what it is, and the first two don't count." Yamagata switched frequencies. "_Nitze_ CIC, this is Beastmaster. We are on station and ready for action."

"This is _Nitze _CIC," came the reply, likely from the Tactical Action Officer in the destroyer's Combat Information Center. "Beastmaster, are you ASW capable?" He used the acronym for anti-submarine warfare.

"That's affirmative. We're carrying four Mark 54X torpedoes with plasma yield warheads."

"Roger, Beastmaster. Standby."

The seconds dragged. Yamagata took slow, steady breaths, his eyes sweeping over the sparkling waters of the Atlantic. Gigan remained beneath the surface.

"Beastmaster, _Nitze _CIC. You are cleared for attack run on contact Sierra Ten."

"Affirmative, _Nitze._ We're going in."

Yamagata banked left and dropped the Excalibur's nose. The other two Excaliburs followed suit.

"Gov, it's all yours."

"Roger. I've got a solution on the target. Beastmasters Two and Three report."

"Beastmaster Two. I've got a solution on the target as well."

"Beastmaster Three reports same. I am locked, cocked and ready to rock."

"All right, drop on my mark," ordered McGovern. "Three, two, one. Mark."

Yamagata heard a dull _thump_ beneath the Excalibur. The aircraft rose a few feet from the sudden loss of weight. He pulled up and turned left, looking out the windows. He saw Beastmaster Three off his starboard wing. Behind them a dark oblong shape hurtled through the air. One of their torpedoes.

"Splashes in the water," said Caputo. "All three Mark 54s in the water, locked on target."

Yamagata's eyes flickered between the sonar display in his HMD and the bright blue water below. Again he took slow, steady breaths, trying to fight off the rising tension he felt. Would the torpedoes stop Gigan? Would they hurt the monster so bad it would turn away from Jacksonville and its 828,000 residents?

He waited, and prayed.

One part of the Atlantic undulated.

"Detonation!" shouted Caputo. "Detonation confirmed for all three fish."

"Status of target?" Yamagata glanced over his shoulder at Caputo.

"Checking."

Yamagata gripped the stick tighter as he waited for the answer.

McGovern, though, had less patience.

"C'mon, Caputo. Did we kill that damn thing or not?"

"Still trying to . . ."

Yamagata looked back at Caputo. The veins in the sergeant's neck stuck out.

"Negative. Target still on the move."

McGovern groaned. "Well, this won't be easy."

"It never is with monsters," said Yamagata. "All right. Come around for another run. This time we're going to drop all torpedoes. Hit it with one big bar-"

"Beastmaster Three!" Ashby hollered over the radio. "I've got a visual on the target. To the northeast."

Yamagata scanned below. He spotted a huge white scythe plowing through the waves.

Straight toward the _USS Nitze._

"_Nitze! Nitze! _Gigan on intercept course with you! Take evasive action!"

A chill went up and down Yamagata as he watched the scythe close on the destroyer. He threw the Excalibur into a tight right turn.

"Gov. Activate freeze ray."

"Freeze ray activated."

Yamagata put the Excalibur into a dive. Puffs of smoke came from the _Nitze's_ 5-inch gun. Yellow tracers streaked from its 25mm cannon and 20mm Phalanx gun. Geysers erupted around the scythe.

It didn't slow down.

"I have fire control," Yamagata announced. An electronic gun pipper appeared in his HDM. He eased the stick right. The crosshairs settled away from the scythe. Yamagata led it, waiting for just . . . the right . . . moment!

His thumb mashed the fire button. A brilliant white beam flashed from under the Excalibur's nose. It struck the lower part of the scythe. Sunlight glinted off the newly formed ice.

It still kept coming.

"Dammit!" Yamagata activated wing-mounted particle beams. Blue rays flashed toward the ocean. To his left, Beastmaster Two opened up with its GAU-30 gatling guns.

_Nitze _turned to port, its guns still firing. More tracers flew from the cutters _Thetis _and_ Vigilant._

The scythe sliced into the _Nitze. _The ship buckled. Flames and smoke burst from its mid-section.

Yamagata closed his eyes. He clenched his teeth and tried not to think about the 380 men and women aboard the _Nitze. _Mourning would have to wait. Right now they had a monster to fight.

The scythe vanished beneath the water.

"Caputo," Yamagata called out. "Get me a bearing on -"

A red flash lit up the water. The _Thetis _vanished in a ball of fire.

Yamagata saw another red flash. The _Vigilant _exploded.

A wall of water erupted from the Atlantic. An enormous dark shape shot into the air.

Yamagata banked left. He then snapped the Excalibur right.

That's when he saw it. An olive and gold dinosaur-like monster with scythes were hands should be, fan-shaped wings on its back, a beaked mouth with mandibles and a single red eye.

Gigan.

"Beastmaster One to all aircraft," Yamagata radioed. "Fire at will. Fire at will."

He swung the Excalibur around. Contrails shot away from the jet as McGovern launched a pair of plasma yield missiles. One missed. The other exploded against Gigan in a white ball of superheated ionized gas. The monster shuddered, but kept flying.

The Beastmasters chased Gigan. Missiles, freeze rays, particle beams and 30mm depleted uranium slugs lashed out at the alien monster. F/A-18s, F-22s, F-35s and F-15s charged across the sky. More missiles and shells filled the air. Flames and sparks jumped off Gigan's hide. Ice coated much of its tail and left leg. Yamagata fired another burst from the GAU-30s and leaned forward. Was Gigan slowing down? Was the barrage finally taking its toll on the monster?

Gigan pulled up and climbed higher into the sky. Yamagata craned his neck and followed it. He pulled back on the stick.

Gigan looped over and went into a dive.

"Crap." Yamagata got on the radio. "Gigan's coming up on our six. Watch yourselves."

He put the jet into a hard right bank. Gigan pulled out of its dive and barreled toward the squadron. Red lasers shot from its eye. An F-22 and an F/A-18 burst into fireballs. Gigan swung its left arm. Another F/A-18 shattered. Other jets banked and dove out of the monster's path. It fired another laser. Missed. Another shot. Yamagata saw an orange flash.

Right where Beastmaster Two was.

"Beastmaster Two, status."

Nothing.

"Blade. Blade, come in!"

"I read you, Ninja. We've got damage to the wing, but I think I can hold it."

"Let me check." Yamagata swung around and pulled alongside Beastmaster Two. The starboard wingtip was twisted and smoking. Blade's Excalibur dipped to the right. The Navy pilot tried level out his aircraft, but couldn't.

"Forget it, Blade. Your starboard wing has too much damage. Divert to nearest airfield."

"C'mon, Ninja. It ain't that bad. You need me in this fight."

"Divert to nearest airfield, Lieutenant. That's an order."

"Yes, Sir," Blade replied in a dejected voice.

The wounded Excalibur made a sluggish turn to the left and headed for the Florida coast.

Yamagata looked to the west. Gigan was now a dark shape in the distance.

Also headed for the Florida coast.

"Beastmaster One to all planes. Form up on me. We're going after Gigan."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	4. Chapter 4

"My God." Yamagata somehow suppressed a shiver as he stared out the MF-3 Excalibur's window.

Straight ahead lay Mayport Naval Station. Or rather, what was left of it. Twisted, smoldering wrecks of destroyers and cruisers dotted the harbor. Much of the base itself was blotted out by thick black smoke fueled by numerous fires.

He silently cursed the Excalibur for not being fast enough to keep up with Gigan. He cursed himself for being unable to get a kill shot on the monster. How many thousands of men and women died because he failed to stop that ugly bastard?

Yamagata closed his eyes. He couldn't afford to get angry. People who fought angry made mistakes, mistakes that got other people killed.

_Concentrate on stopping Gigan. That's all that matters._

He led the mixed bag squadron over what remained of Mayport Naval Station. They continued west, toward Jacksonville. Already he could see columns of smoke rising from Florida's most populous city.

They followed the winding St. John's River to the outskirts of Jacksonville. Gigan stomped through the suburban neighborhood near the Arlington Expressway, leaving fire, smoke and dust in its wake.

Yamagata split the squadron into two formations. He led one from the east. "Burner" Ashby led the other from the north.

"Keep it steady, Ninja," said McGovern as he readied a volley of plasma yield missiles.

Yamagata kept the Excalibur's nose pointed straight at Gigan. The monster hadn't seen them. It concentrated on stomping buildings and people flat.

"Lock on target," said McGovern. "Missiles away!"

Three missiles streaked out of the Excalibur's rotary launcher. Yamagata fired a couple of bursts from the particle beam cannons and banked left. Gigan turned just as the missiles hit. White miniature suns exploded around its legs and waist. It threw up its scythe-like arms and stumbled.

More jets dove on Gigan. JDAMs, GBU-39 and AGM-154 glide bombs burst into balls of flame and smoke on and around the monster. A freeze ray from Ashby's Excalibur struck its left shoulder.

Yamagata swung his Excalibur around for another attack run. Gigan reared back and swung its right arm. It struck an F-35. The stubby, arrow-shaped fighter vanished in a flash of fire.

"Gov, freeze ray," ordered Yamagata. "Go for the wings. Let's try to ground this SOB."

"You got it, boss."

A white beam shot from the Excalibur's nose. Ice cascaded over Gigan's back and shoulders. It spun around and brought up its left arm.

"Oh shit." Yamagata shoved the stick left. Something sharp and silvery flashed in his peripheral vision. Invisible hands pressed down on him as he continued the bank. His peripheral vision disappeared. He tightened his stomach and grunted to fight off the effects from the g-forces.

Yamagata rolled the Excalibur right. The g-forces eased. A flash of red caught his attention.

A laser shot from Gigan's eye. An F-15 exploded. An F/A-18 dropped a GBU-39 glide bomb. A fireball rose from Gigan's tail. The F/A-18 rocketed by the monster.

A red laser sliced through the air. The F/A-18 went up in flames.

Gigan turned, crouched and jumped into the air. It cleared the St. John's River and landed in an industrial park. Two F-35s went after the monster. Tracers flew from their 25mm cannons. Tiny sparks leapt off Gigan's hide. It turned and fired its eye laser. Both F-35s exploded.

Gigan tramped toward the cloverleaf where the Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway and the Arlington Expressway met. Yamagata and Ashby's Excalibur's hit it with more missiles and particle beams. The barrage barely slowed down Gigan. Overpasses packed with vehicles collapsed under its massive feet. Beyond the shattered cloverleaf stood a large white and blue bowl-shaped structure. Everbank Stadium, home of the NFL's Jacksonville Jaguars.

A red laser shot from Gigan's eye. A ball of fire consumed the entire rear half of the stadium.

Yamagata came around for another attack. His eyes widened when he saw tracers fall from the sky. Geysers of flame erupted around Gigan.

"What the hell?" He looked up. A bulky, four-engine aircraft flew in a lazy circle above Jacksonville. Yellow flashes spewed from its port side.

Yamagata recognized it. An AC-130 Spectre gunship from Hulburt Field in northwestern Florida.

More rounds from the modified Hercules' 25mm and 40mm cannons and 105mm howitzer raked Gigan. Spouts of flames and smoke went up all around the monster. Sparks sprang from his body.

Gigan arched its back and fired its eye laser. The red beam struck the rear of the AC-130. Flaming wreckage tumbled toward the ground.

"Burner," Yamagata radioed Ashby.

"Go, Ninja."

"Form up on me. We're going to come in from the northeast and hit Gigan with freeze rays. Aim for the head."

"Roger, Ninja."

Yamagata swung the Excalibur right. Two F-22s dove on Gigan and dropped GBU-39s. Tracers from their 20mm cannons stitched the monster as the glide bombs arced toward it. Plumes of fire burst from its torso.

The blasts didn't faze Gigan.

Red lasers streaked from its eye. One F-22 exploded.

Five miles from downtown, Ashby's Excalibur's took up position next to Yamagata's. The two jets wheeled left and rocketed toward Gigan. The monster trampled the Veterans Memorial Arena. It swung its scythe-like arms. High-rises shattered. Debris tumbled to the streets. Huge dust clouds sprang up.

"I'm locked onto Gigan's head," reported McGovern.

"Beastmaster Three, target status?" asked Yamagata.

"I've got an ugly monster head filling my target scope," replied Lieutenant Scott "Sockman" Pena, Beastmaster Three's weapons systems officer.

"Fire on my mark. Three, two, one. Mark!"

Both Excaliburs fired their freeze rays. The white beams struck Gigan's head. A block of ice surrounded it.

The Excaliburs shot past the monster. Yamagata swung around. Gigan staggered into a high rise. The building crumbled. Two F/A-18s streaked in and dropped glide bombs. Fireballs roiled up from Gigan's waist.

Yamagata held his breath, watching as Gigan fought to keep its balance. Would it –

A red glow formed within the ice that encased Gigan's head. A beam blasted through the ice. Chunks of it fell to the ground. Gigan swatted at a passing F-22. It disintegrated.

Gigan turned to Yamagata's Excalibur.

"Hold on!"

He shoved the stick left. The Excalibur banked sharply.

A sledgehammer blow rocked the jet.

Yamagata gritted his teeth as the Excalibur flipped onto its back. He fought with the stick and the throttle, trying to right the jet. Beeps and shrieks filled the cockpit.

He finally straightened out the Excalibur, somewhat. The jet tilted to starboard.

But at least they were still flying.

Yamagata let out a quick sigh of relief. He thanked God for the titanium alloy/artificial diamond hull. If not for that, Gigan's laser would have turned the Excalibur into ash.

The warning alarms in the cockpit still wailed.

"Caputo. Damage report."

"Hull integrity down ten percent. I'm getting fluctuations in engine output. I'll try to reroute -"

A red flash appeared in Yamagata's peripheral vision. He banked right.

Something slammed into the Excalibur. The aircraft shook.

"Shit!" McGovern blurted.

Yamagata used both hands to bring the aircraft under control.

ENGINE FAILURE flashed in his HMD.

"Engine's dead!" shouted Caputo.

Yamagata hit the start button.

Nothing.

"C'mon. C'mon."

He hit it again. The engine remained silent.

The Excalibur plummeted toward the ground. Yamagata stabbed the start button again and again.

"C'mon, you son-of-a-bitch. C'mon!"

Nothing. The altimeter numbers in his HMD fell rapidly. 4,000 feet. 3,800. 3,400.

He didn't want to eject. The Excalibur was too valuable. But if he couldn't get the engine started . . .

3,000. 2,800.

_One more time._

Yamagata hit the button. There was a chug, a thump, then a roar.

He had no time to celebrate. He pulled the stick toward his gut. The Excalibur's nose came up. The numbers on the altimeter rose.

The jet's speed suddenly dropped. Yamagata throttled up, trying to add more power. He backed off when he saw the engine redline.

"Dammit." He looked out the window at Gigan. Another bomb exploded next to it. The monster chopped down another high rise.

He continued to stare at Gigan. He couldn't imagine running out on a fight. Marines don't retreat, especially when a giant monster is destroying a major American city. Especially when he was the leader of a squadron tasked with protecting the country from giant monsters.

Engine power fell again. The Excalibur dropped. Yamagata yanked back on the stick and pushed up on the throttle.

"Beastmaster One," General Griffin's voice came through his helmet. "We're reading a massive malfunction in your engine. Withdraw immediately."

"I can handle it, General. You need me in the fight."

"All you're going to do is die fighting Gigan in a busted aircraft. Divert to nearest airfield. That's an order."

Anger flashed through Yamagata. Now he knew how Blade felt when he ordered him out of the fight.

In the end, there was only one thing he could do.

"Yes, Sir. Beastmaster One disengaging."

He put the Excalibur into a sluggish turn and coaxed as much speed out of the damaged engine as he could.

"Ninja to Burner," he radioed Ashby.

"Burner, go."

"I'm outta the fight. Engine's shot to hell. It's all up to you. Make us proud. Semper Fi."

"Roger that, Ninja."

The Excalibur dipped again. Yamagata got the nose up and glanced over his shoulder. "Caputo. Find me the nearest airfield, and find it now."

"Checking."

Several long seconds passed before Caputo spoke. "Okay, Northeast Florida Regional Airport is forty miles south of us. Inputting coordinates into the nav system."

A map and GPS coordinates popped up in a screen to the left of Yamagata's HMD.

"Got it. Contact their tower, tell them to prepare for an emergency landing."

"Yes, Sir," replied Caputo.

McGovern turned to Yamagata. "You fly, I'll pray. How does that sound?"

"I could use every bit of divine intervention I can get."

Yamagata's eyes flickered between the towns and swamps outside and the information on the HMD. The engine power kept fluctuating. The jet would dip and tilt. Yamagata held the stick in a deathgrip. He checked their course to airport. Thirty miles. Twenty-five miles. Twenty miles.

The engine flamed out.

Yamagata stabbed the start button. Once, twice, three times, four times.

The fifth time the engine kicked on.

"Let's not do that again," said McGovern.

"Nothing would make me happier."

Sweat drenched Yamagata's entire body as he spotted the airport in the distance. He fought to keep the Excalibur steady on its decent. The aircraft continued to dip to the right. He took slow, steady breaths. He couldn't afford fear or panic right now. Images of his family, of Nicole, flashed through his mind. He tried to ignore them. His entire focus had to be on landing the Excalibur.

Ten miles. Eight miles. Yamagata concentrated on his approach, lining up with the runway. He checked the engine output, tried to keep the jet level, or as level as possible. Damn, but Gigan did a number on it.

Five miles. Four. Three. Two.

The engine flamed out again.

Yamagata tried to restart it. Nothing. He thought about ejecting, then dismissed it. The Excalibur was too valuable an aircraft to lose.

"Better hold on, guys. We're gonna do this the hard way."

Deadstick landing. Yamagata would have to glide the damaged Excalibur onto the runway. He'd done this before, sort of. All his deadstick landings had been in simulators, never for real.

First time for everything.

Yamagata gritted his teeth, pushing the stick to the left. The right wing didn't want to cooperate and straighten out.

The runway loomed closer. The altimeter ticked down past 1,000 feet.

The Excalibur dropped faster than he wanted. Yamagata fought to keep the nose up. The aircraft felt heavy, like a brick with wings.

500 feet. 400. 300. 200.

The right wing dipped. Yamagata struggled to bring it up, then to keep the nose up.

100 feet. 50. 40.

He held his breath. They were going to be short of the runway.

_BANG!_

The sharp jolt went through the Excalibur. Yamagata pitched forward. The straps dug into his torso. The jet skidded left. He pulled on the stick, trying to straighten it out. The jet lined up with the center of the runway, then slid right, then back to middle. Yamagata pumped the brakes. He knew stomping on them would cause the Excalibur to spin.

The speed kept decreasing. The jet slid left, then right. Yamagata practically crushed the stick and kept pumping the bricks. They'd used up over 4,500 feet of the 8,000-foot runway. He glanced at the patch of grass at the end of the asphalt.

_Slow . . . slow . . . slow._

5,500 feet. The speed continued to decrease. The Excalibur became easier to control.

6,000 feet. 7,000 feet. The Excalibur crawled along the runway. At 7,800 feet, it rolled to a halt.

Yamagata let out a huge sigh and slumped in his seat. The energy evaporated from his body. The faces of his family floated through his mind's eye.

So did Nicole's smiling face.

McGovern slapped him on the shoulder. "Like a boss, Ninja. Like a boss. The next kid I accidentally father, I'm gonna name him after you."

"Thanks, I think." He looked over his shoulder. "You okay back there, Caputo?"

"Fine, Sir. I think I gotta change my underwear, but I'm fine."

"Well, that makes two of us." Yamagata unbuckled himself from his seat. "C'mon. Let's do a walk-around and check out the damage. We need to get fixed up and back in the fight. I have a bad feeling Gigan isn't going to stop at Jacksonville."

**XXXXX**

Captain Oscar Ordonez of the Cuban Revolutionary Navy looked to the stern of his Osa II-class missile boat. The diesel engines chugged and coughed louder and louder until the noise evolved into a steady hum. The stubby vessel with two rectangular P-15 missile launchers on each side cut through the water, faster than they had at any time since they left the harbor in Havana.

_I wonder how long that will last._

A balding man with a slight paunch stepped out of the bridge, black grease stains on his white t-shirt.

"Repairs complete, Sir," reported Petty Officer First Class Sanchez, the Osa's engineer. "We should be good from here on out."

Ordonez nodded. "Good work again, Sanchez."

He truly meant that. Without his miracle worker engineer, the crew would have to break out oars to get this outdated tub anywhere.

He turned away, not wanting Sanchez to see him scowl. Such was the state of the navy. He bit off a sardonic laugh. To call this a navy was a joke. All they had was a small collection of outdated patrol boats. It made him wonder, yet again, if he should have gone into the army all those years ago. But back when he'd been a cadet, Cuba had a viable navy, with corvettes, submarines, minesweepers, even an amphibious ship.

Now most of that navy sat rusting in various harbors. What ships they did have were kept running with cannibalized parts, electrical tape and sheer force of will.

_And we're supposed to defend Cuba if Gigan comes here?_

The beast had destroyed an entire American carrier group. What chance did his little Osa have if it showed up? Still, when the order came to deploy, he obeyed. What choice did he have? When the President ordered you to go, you went. Unless you wanted to be thrown in jail, or worse.

The museum piece warship continued through the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Ordonez lifted his binoculars to his eyes. The tall, stout captain scanned to the north. Nothing but water. Fine by him. He hoped that would be all he saw on this patrol.

"Captain!" shouted Seaman Fossas near the port side missile launchers. "Object approaching from the southwest!"

Ordonez hurried over to the skinny sailor, who had his binoculars pressed against his eyes. "What is it?"

"I don't know, Sir. But it's huge."

Ordonez looked through his binoculars. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward.

_No. It can't be._

Three enormous, jagged armored plates cut through the waves.

Ordonez hurried into the bridge. "Sound battle stations."

Klaxons wailed. Ordonez stared out the bridge windows. The armored plates drew closer.

"All missiles ready to fire," announced Lieutenant Estrada, the Osa's weapons officer. "Thirty-millimeter guns tracking target."

Ordonez said nothing. He continued to watch the armored plates.

"Shall we open fire, Captain?" asked Estrada.

Ordonez didn't respond.

"Sir, shall we open fire?"

Ordonez turned to him. "No."

Estrada's eyes bulged in shock. "No. But . . . but that thing. It could be a threat to Cuba."

"It is swimming _away _from Cuba. Unless it suddenly turns and heads toward Havana, it is not a threat. Our orders are to guard against Gigan, not this monster. Let it continue unmolested."

Captain Ordonez watched the armored plates go past his ship and proceed north.

Toward America.

Toward Gigan.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	5. Chapter 5

President Zamora did his best to look concerned.

Inside he felt joyous. He stared at the wall monitors in the White House Situation Room, which showed satellite and news feeds of Gigan destroying Jacksonville. It took a great deal of self-control to keep from smiling.

He had taken a big step toward his ultimate goal.

"We've lost most of our planes over Jacksonville," reported an Air Force lieutenant colonel from the Situation Room's Watch Team.

A tall dark-skinned man with glasses and graying hair turned to him. "What about ground units?" asked Secretary of Defense Dean Moss.

"We didn't have that many to begin with in Jacksonville, and most of them are gone."

"Get more planes and tanks there on the double."

"Yes, Sir."

Zamora suppressed a smile. _Yes, send more there. _The more Gigan destroyed, the better.

The CNN news feed showed Gigan fire its laser at a row of office buildings. They vanished in an enormous plume of flames and smoke. The monster stomped on I-95, crushing vehicles and caving in the roadway. It then used its right arm to smash through a square-shaped building nearby.

"Mister President," called out a Situation Room staffer, a petite, blonde Navy petty officer. "Secretary Kinney on line three.

Zamora nodded and picked up the receiver. "I'm here, Morris."

"I just received a call from Governor Pena," said Homeland Security Secretary Morris Kinney. "He's requesting FEMA assistance to deal with the attack on Jacksonville."

"Give The Governor whatever assistance he needs."

"Yes, Mister President."

"And be sure to give Director Burleson a call. We'll definitely need CEMCOR in Jacksonville as well."

A noticeable pause. It didn't surprise Zamora. Kinney despised the Civilian Emergency Mobilization Corps, mainly because it operated independent of Homeland Security. A control freak like Kinney couldn't tolerate that.

"Yes, Mister President," he answered begrudgingly.

"No territorial battles this time, Morris. We have a serious disaster on our hands. I want full cooperation between your department and CEMCOR."

Another pause. "Of course, Mister President. We'll give them whatever help they need."

Zamora thanked Kinney and hung up, staring at the phone with a slight frown. The former congressman had been very useful during his re-election, trotting out a parade of undocumented residents who told tales of dealing with racism in this country. Some tales were true, others made-up. Either way, Kinney successfully tied them to his challenger's proposed immigration policy.

But Kinney was too consumed with climbing the political ladder, not in forging a better society. There would be no place for him in Zamora's perfect world.

He emptied his second bottled water since entering the Situation Room and started on a third when the SECDEF briefed him on the current positions of planes and ships converging on Gigan. FEMA's director called with a laundry list of supplies needed for relief efforts. The most amusing presentation came from the CIA director, who was convinced Gigan was under extraterrestrial control.

_If you only knew._

Zamora drained his third bottled water. The pressure on his bladder increased.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse me." He stood. "Even in a crisis, one needs to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Zamora headed toward an antechamber in the left corner of the Situation Room, trailed by two Secret Service agents. They went through a small hallway that led to the bathroom. The agents stood on either side of the door as Zamora closed it.

He looked around the bathroom and sighed, relishing the solitude. This was one of the few places where his bodyguards couldn't follow him. How he loathed those hyper-paranoid, gun-toting thugs. Every time he turned around a group of them were right there, watching him, tagging along with him like an army of annoying little brothers. Whenever he left the White House, they went on and on about security precautions and personal safety, talking down to him like he was a five-year-old. He had a masters in political science from Columbia University. He doubted any of those troglodytes in suits had even finished community college.

_I won't have to put up with them much longer._

Zamora took advantage of his rare moment of solitude to not only relieve himself, but pull out the special cell phone his friend Darrell Howell had given him. He touched a few icons on the screen and hit send.

**XXXXX**

Yamagata watched the large cloud of smoke cling to the sky north of the airport. His jaw tightened, thinking of the destruction Gigan was causing.

And how he could do nothing do stop it.

He paced around the damaged MF-3 Excalibur, his eyes fixed on its scorched and warped armor plating. That didn't concern him as much as the engine. They'd have to replace the whole damn thing. That would take a lot of time.

How many more would Gigan kill before he got back in the air?

Yamagata paced around the Excalibur again, and again.

"You need to relax, Ninja," said McGovern, who was stretched out on the tarmac.

"I am relaxed."

"Doesn't look it, with all that pacing you're doing."

"Pacing relaxes me."

McGovern shrugged. "If you say so."

Yamagata stifled a grunt and resumed his pacing. He took some slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. It worked, until he saw the cloud of smoke in the horizon. Then he wanted desperately to get back in the fight.

He wished Grandpop was here. He would certainly offer him some sage advice on the need for patience and self-discipline. Nothing seemed to faze that man.

_Well, he's not here, so it's all on you._

Yamagata imagined Grandpop's voice telling him settle down, to stop focusing on what he couldn't do and start focusing on what he could do.

He and his crew could guard the Excalibur. No way could they leave a plane this advanced unattended. Not that any of the airport personnel Yamagata had dealt with presented any sort of threat. He also didn't see the large numbers of passengers one would expect at Christmas time. Probably because many of them had gotten as far away from here as possible following Gigan's attack on the _Lincoln _carrier group.

So there wasn't much to guard against at this airport in the middle of the swamp.

Yamagata continued to pace while McGovern and Caputo sat on the tarmac. The only break in the boredom came when the airport manager showed up with bags of food, courtesy of the airport's cafe, and at no charge to the three fliers. Once they finished their meals, it was back to waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Yamagata stopped his pacing when he heard droning engines in the distance. He looked to the northwest. Three bulky shapes appeared in the sky. They took on more distinct forms the closer they got to the airport. The large wingtip propellers and twin tails made the aircraft easy to identify. V-22 Ospreys.

Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo backed away from the Excalibur as two of the Ospreys tilted their propellers and hovered over the damaged jet, cables dangling from their bellies. The third Osprey also went into vertical mode and landed further down the runway. The ramp dropped and a group of Air Force crewmen exited. They hurried to the Excalibur and began hooking up the cables. A husky black man in a dark green flightsuit and helmet strode up to the trio.

"Major Yamagata?"

"That's me."

The newcomer saluted. "Staff Sergeant Baker, crew chief." He nodded to the Osprey behind him. "We figured you might need a ride."

"Yes we do, Sergeant. Let's get back to Eglin and get our bird fixed up."

Baker furrowed his brow. "Eglin? You mean you didn't hear, Sir?"

Yamagata stared at him. Something about Baker's tone was unsettling. "Hear what?"

"Gigan took out the base."

**XXXXX**

President Zamora stood with his arms folded, staring at a computer generated map of the Gulf Coast. Red Xs signified where Gigan had struck. The state capital of Tallahassee, Panama City, Tyndall Air Force Base, Hurlburt Field, NAS Pensacola and Eglin Air Force Base, where the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron had forward deployed. With their base wrecked and two of their Excaliburs damaged, they shouldn't be able to interfere with his plan.

"AWACS is still tracking Gigan inbound to Mobile," said Secretary Moss. "It should reach the city in five minutes."

"Do we have any units that can intercept it?" asked Zamora, putting a believable amount of concern in his voice.

"We have B-52s and A-10s from Barksdale Air Force Base and Apache attack helicopters from Fort Rucker in orbit around Mobile. The Navy also has the littoral combat ship _Jackson _and the attack sub _Minnesota _in Mobile Bay ready to engage."

"Good." Zamora nodded. That statement wasn't a lie. It was good all those units were in and around Mobile. More ships and planes for Gigan to destroy. More warmongering men and women to kill.

Fewer people to resist him.

"Gigan has entered Mobile air space," announced Moss.

Zamora stared at the satellite image of Mobile. Gigan flew over Mobile Bay and landed near the shoreline of the port's McDuffie Island facility. It swung its scythe-like arms. Cranes shattered. Debris tumbled into the water. Gigan stomped along the shore, crushing dock facilities. Laser beams shot from its eye. Buildings burst into flames. Gushers of fire tore through a pair of container ships.

More gasps could be heard throughout the Situation Room, along with a couple of, "Oh my Gods." Military officials and their civilian counterparts had phones pressed against their ears, getting and giving constant updates on the attack, urgency and concern in their voices.

Zamora watched more of the Port of Mobile go up in flames, looking stoic, feeling elated.

"B-52s have launched cruise missiles," said Moss. "Put up the feed from the AWACS."

One of the screens showing a live broadcast from MSNBC vanished, replaced by digital lines and symbols from the E-3 Sentry's AN/APY-2 radar system. Two dozen tracks representing AGM-158 Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missiles, or JASSMs, closed on Gigan's location.

Worry scratched the back of Zamora's mind. He'd seen footage of what these missiles could do. Could Gigan withstand over twenty of them?

_He can. Most of these monsters are impervious to conventional weapons._

His worry remained, and grew as the tracks got closer to Gigan.

The monster fired its eye laser. Four of the missile tracks vanished. Then five. Six Seven.

Contrails flashed into view on the satellite feed. Fireballs sprouted on Gigan's body. The monster stumbled backwards. Several people jumped to their feet, eyeing the screen with hopeful looks.

Gigan remained on its feet.

Zamora let out the breath he'd been holding.

The monster stomped through a field of containers, then blasted a cargo ship. More eye beams shot across the Mobile River. Buildings, cranes and ships on the other side exploded.

One of the largest ports in the country had become a sea of fire.

Stubby aircraft with twin tails and engines mounted on either side of the fuselage appeared. A-10 Warthogs. Streams of yellow tracers spat from their 30mm cannons. Sparks jumped off Gigan's body. Two Warthogs dove on the monster and dropped Paveway laser-guided bombs on it. Flames and sparks burst from Gigan's neck and shoulder. It spun around and fired its eye beam. One Warthog banked out of the way. The other exploded.

Several Apaches hovered over the city. Hellfire missiles shot from their wing stubs. Balls of orange and black erupted across Gigan's torso. Red beams flashed from its eye. Half the squadron vanished in brilliant fireballs.

Gigan's foot crushed a docked ship. The monster stomped through the river and smashed into the Jubilee Parkway bridges.

More missiles streaked in from the south. Harpoon anti-ship missiles from the _Minnesota. _Just outside the mouth of the Mobile River sat a ship with a knife-shaped bow, curved island and trimaran hull. The _USS Jackson. _It fired its 57mm gun.

Missiles, shells and bombs continued to explode against Gigan. The monster staggered a couple of times, but didn't go down. It came ashore, lashing out with its blade arms. Hotels and office buildings burst apart in clouds of glass and steel. Eye beams blasted more sections of Mobile. Gushers of fire and smoke rose throughout the city.

Zamora silently cheered on Gigan. Once Mobile was destroyed he'd send the beast to –

"Mister President," blurted Secretary Moss. "The _Minnesota _is tracking a large underwater object heading for Mobile."

"Another submarine?"

"No. It's biological in nature."

Zamora's eyes widened. Anxiety flooded him. A large underwater creature. Could it be . . .

_No. Please, no._

The water south of McDuffie Island erupted. Zamora's stomach clenched when he saw a dark, reptilian form break the surface. The scaly hide, the short snout, the rows of jagged armor plates. There could be no mistaking this creature.

Fear gripped Zamora as his gaze locked on Godzilla.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	6. Chapter 6

Godzilla unleashed a deafening roar. He glared at Gigan. The buzzing in his head intensified, like a swarm of monstrous hornets. It was the sensation he felt whenever a great evil threatened the world, his world. It had guided him here to battle this familiar foe again.

Gigan clanged its blade arms together and let out a piercing wail.

Godzilla roared again. He charged into the Mobile River, raging fires on either side of him. Clouds of smoke drifted in front of him.

Gigan leapt into the air and flew toward Godzilla. He twisted to the right and brought down both arms on the alien monster's back. It slammed into the river. Huge curtains of water erupted around it.

Godzilla kicked Gigan in the side. It tumbled through the air and crashed onto Pinto Island. Gigan rolled through the wall of fire. Godzilla roared, a blue glow surrounding his armored plates. Atomic fire blasted out of his mouth. A massive ball of fire rose where Gigan had fallen.

**XXXXX**

A chill went through President Zamora while several people in the Situation Room let out subdued cheers. He leaned forward in his chair, trying to appear happy at what he saw on the satellite feed. Inside his dread grew.

_Get up. Get up, damn you. Don't be dead._

He saw Godzilla standing in the river and the flames consuming the port's Pinto Island facility.

No sign of Gigan.

His legs began trembling. Zamora clenched his jaw, trying to force the shaking to stop. That proved impossible. Before him his plan was literally going up in flames.

A shiver went up his back. How many years had he been working toward creating the perfect country? _His _perfect country. No more military and huge businesses taking money from the less fortunate. The end of the oil industry and the proliferation of green energy. No more so-called patriots standing in the way of peace and progress.

But he needed Gigan in order for that to become reality.

Defense Secretary Moss' shoulders slumped. He breathed a sign of relief. "Looks like Godzilla took care of -"

He stopped mid-sentence when Gigan rose from the flames.

Now Zamora breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

**XXXXX**

Wisps of smoke rosefrom Gigan. It screeched and leaned forward. A laser shot from its eye. The beam missed Godzilla.

A second beam struck him in the chest.

Godzilla wailed and stumbled backwards. Flames and smoke billowed from his chest.

Gigan jumped into the water. The spikes running down its torso whirled like a buzzsaw. Gigan charged Godzilla. He reared back with his right left arm and smashed it against Gigan's head. The alien monster staggered. Godzilla hit him in the head again. Again.

Gigan struck Godzilla in the abdomen with the side of his blade arm. Its eye glowed red.

Godzilla ducked to the left as a red laser streaked past him. He punched Gigan in the head. The alien monster turned toward him, activating the buzzsaw in his torso.

Growling, Godzilla backed up in the river. Gigan screeched and charged. Godzilla stepped to the side. Gigan rushed past him. Godzilla rammed both hands into Gigan's back. It fell face first into the river. Waves of water surged over the shoreline, extinguishing some of the flames. Godzilla advanced on the other monster.

Gigan rolled onto its back and fired its eye laser. The beam hit Godzilla in the stomach. He roared and collapsed.

Gigan got to its feet. It screeched and leapt toward Godzilla. Its buzzsaw whirred.

**XXXXX**

Gasps rippled around the Situation Room table. A few civilians and military personnel pointed to a news feed showing Gigan's buzzsaw digging into Godzilla's skin. Fountains of blood gushed from the monster's right side.

"Dammit! Godzilla can't die!" blurted one of Secretary Moss' staffers.

Zamora looked at the man. _Yes he can._

**XXXXX**

Godzilla howled in pain. The whirling blades cut deeper into his thick hide. His torso grew wet and sticky from the rivers of blood flowing from the cavernous wound. The water around him turned crimson.

He opened his mouth wide. Blue fire shot from his maw. Tendrils of flame and smoke exploded from Gigan's shoulder. It shrieked and rolled off Godzilla.

Blood continued to stream out of Godzilla as he staggered to his feet. His movements were sluggish, his roar not as powerful. His strength ebbed as more blood poured into the Mobile River.

He roared again. Gigan rose, its left shoulder blackened and smoking. Godzilla hit him with another blast of atomic fire. A fireball sprang from the center of Gigan's torso. It screeched and fell backwards.

Godzilla's muscles grew heavy. Every footstep took effort. Still he stomped toward Gigan. It was the enemy. He had to destroy it.

**XXXXX**

The fear returned to Zamora. Even gravely wounded, Godzilla continued to fight. Shouldn't animals run away when they got hurt?

Of course, Godzilla was no ordinary animal. Some actually considered him a living, breathing force of nature. Zamora had always dismissed such theories.

Until now.

"It appears Godzilla has things in hand." Zamora forced himself to sound confident. "If you'll excuse me, please."

Again he headed off to the bathroom, two Secret Service agents trailing him. They stood outside while he shut the door.

Zamora reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the special cell phone.

**XXXXX**

Godzilla opened his mouth. His armored plates glowed blue. A stream of atomic fire gushed from his mouth.

Gigan shot out of the river and into the air. The jet of blue flame hit the water where the alien monster had been, boiling it.

Gigan climbed higher into the air. Godzilla sent another stream of fire at it. He missed. Gigan soon vanished into the clouds.

Godzilla roared, staring at the sky. His foe had retreated, but the buzzing sensation in his head remained.

Godzilla's fight with Gigan was far from over.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	7. Chapter 7

Yamagata sat quietly on the Osprey's metal bench. Worry and uncertainty grew with every passing minute. Sergeant Baker hadn't been very helpful answering his questions before they left Northeast Florida Regional Airport.

"How bad did we get hit?"

"Pretty bad, Sir."

He'd hesitated before asking his next question. "How many did we lose?"

"Sorry, Sir. I don't know."

"Do you know anything about a Captain Nicole Fox? She's in charge of our squadron's electronic warfare unit."

"Sorry, Sir. I don't."

Yamagata pressed his hands against his knees and stared at the hull across from him. He pictured Nicole's beautiful face with those glasses that made her look hot and smart at the same time. He recalled their first date, holding her in his arms, making love to her. Just being with her. What if . . .

_She's all right. She has to be._

What the hell could he base that on? Yamagata had lost more than a few good friends during his time in The Corps, either from training accidents or in combat. The fact he loved Nicole didn't make her immune to injury or . . .

He couldn't bring himself to think that word.

The V-22 Osprey touched down at Moody Air Force Base in Valdosta, Georgia, 20 or so miles from the border with Florida. Sergeant Baker had told him the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron was transferring its operations here.

"Well, let's go check out our new digs," McGovern said as the Osprey's rear ramp lowered. His usual jovial tone was absent. Yamagata figured his weapons systems officer had to be worried about their friends and comrades back at Eglin.

He, McGovern and Caputo stepped off the aircraft. A slim man in a flightsuit hurried over to them. Yamagata instantly recognized him. Captain "Burner" Ashby.

"You guys okay?" he asked.

"We're fine," answered Yamagata. "You hear anything more about Eglin?"

"Just that the rest of the squadron is on their way here, or at least the survivors." Ashby's jaw clenched. His shifted his gaze away from Yamagata.

"Have you heard anything about Captain Fox?"

"Sorry, Ninja. I wish I had some news." Ashby paused. "I'm sure she's okay."

Yamagata gave him a stiff nod. He forced his professionalism to the surface. "What's the status of your aircraft?"

"Still in good shape and ready to fight. It's refueled and rearmed, but it looks like I'm not needed right now."

"Why not?"

"I guess you didn't hear. After Gigan did his strafing run through northern Florida, he went to Mobile. Blew the crap out of the port. But Godzilla showed up and kicked his ass. Gigan beat it out of there."

"Where is he now?" asked McGovern.

Ashby shrugged. "No idea. We lost track of him over Kentucky."

"So what do we do now?" asked Caputo.

Yamagata looked around at his men. "There's not much we can do right now, especially with two birds grounded. We'll just have to wait for General Griffin and the rest of the squadron to get here, then plan our next move. Meantime, get some food and some rest."

McGovern, Caputo and Ashby walked across the runway to a grouping of administration and support buildings. Yamagata stood along the tarmac, staring up at the sky.

He had no idea how much time passed before he spotted another Osprey approaching Moody. Anticipation and anxiety dueled inside him. Was Nicole on that aircraft?

The Osprey hovered and touched down. The ramp came down. Yamagata stepped forward.

_Please be there._

A couple dozen men and women exited the Osprey. He looked for the familiar black hair and glasses.

He didn't see Nicole.

Another Osprey landed minutes later. Again, there was no sign of Nicole.

Tremors went through his legs. Yamagata had to concentrate to remain on his feet.

This shouldn't be happening. They should be back in Washington, celebrating Christmas with his family. He ought to be wondering if Nicole would like the gifts he got her, not if she was alive or . . .

McGovern and Caputo returned and stood next to him.

"What are you guys doing?" asked Yamagata.

"We thought we'd keep you company," said McGovern.

Yamagata looked from McGovern to Caputo, then back to McGovern. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"You're right," replied McGovern. "We don't _have_ to do this."

Yamagata nodded to McGovern, then Caputo, then looked back at the sky.

More time passed before another Osprey appeared. Yamagata held his breath, watching it descend toward the runway. When it landed, his eyes locked on the rear ramp. It took forever for the damn thing to lower.

People streamed out of the aircraft. He recognized a few of the squadron support staff, including Master Sergeant Luis Hernandez from Air Force Security Forces. His stomach twisted when he couldn't find –

There! He saw Nicole come down the ramp. A weight lifted from his very soul. His knees buckled, but he remained standing. McGovern slapped him on the shoulder. Yamagata nodded to him, then strode toward Nicole.

She stopped the moment she saw him. Yamagata halted a few feet away, taking in every detail of her face. He wanted to wrap her in his arms. But this wasn't the appropriate place for it.

He turned and walked toward a row of hangars. Nicole followed. Yamagata found a deserted one and walked inside. Nicole had taken just three steps in when Yamagata spun around, hugged her and kissed her. He rested his cheek against hers.

"My God, I was so worried," he told her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. My unit got to the shelters before Gigan attacked." Nicole kissed him. "What about you? I heard your Excalibur got hit bad."

"It did, but I got us down in one piece." Yamagata gave her another long kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Yamagata just stared at her, gently clutching her shoulders. He drew a few breaths before speaking. "How bad did Eglin get hit?"

"Pretty bad. I heard casualties could be as high as a thousand."

Yamagata closed his eyes. Add to that the dead and wounded from all the attacks between Jacksonville and Mobile . . . My God, the number had to be staggering.

He opened his eyes and regained his composure. "So did your people find out who's controlling Gigan?"

Nicole shook her head. "No. But I heard that Godzilla fought off Gigan in Mobile." She paused, staring off to her left. "Maybe he's gone for good."

"Do you really believe that?"

She turned back to him. "I wish I could."

**XXXXX**

Three days passed without any sightings of Gigan. Yamagata and his crew spent the time reviewing reports and footage of past Gigan attacks, plotting out search patterns and maintaining a rigorous exercise regimen. With their Excalibur still being repaired, there wasn't much else for them to do.

Yamagata hoped that would change soon. The CO of the squadron's maintenance unit told him his people had been busting their asses and then some to fix the Excalibur. He felt confident the jet would be ready to fly tomorrow. The maintenance guys had gotten Lieutenant "Blade" Shrape's Excalibur back in the air yesterday. If Yamagata was back at the controls of his bird tomorrow, he vowed to do something to show his appreciation to the maintenance unit. You always wanted to be on good terms with the men and women who kept your plane from falling apart.

The dark of night fell over Moody Air Force Base as all three Excalibur crews, along with Nicole, entered the mess hall. They had just begun eating their dinners when Master Sergeant Hernandez strode into the room.

"The President's on TV," he announced.

"Again?" An incredulous looked formed on Sharpe's face. "Man, he's been doing three or four speeches a day since Gigan attacked."

"Well, given what's happened, I guess he had to," said Air Force Lieutenant Dennis "Menace" Anderson, Sharpe's weapons system officer.

Sharpe didn't seem convinced.

Yamagata wondered about that himself. Given the huge number of televised speeches Zamora had given during his two terms in office, he was convinced the man loved the sound of his own voice more than his wife. But after the devastating Gigan attacks, he wanted to give his Commander-in-Chief the benefit of the doubt he was doing what a president should do during times like these. Comfort and reassure the public.

Still, he couldn't help but think doing so three to four times a day was a bit excessive.

Hernandez changed the channel of the TV on the far wall to FOX News. The anchor prattled on for a couple of minutes, trying to fill time until The President was ready. Soon the familiar round, dark face appeared. The lines on that face had deepened and the hair had more gray than when Horatio Zamora first took office.

_That job sure isn't conducive to one's health._

"Good evening, my fellow citizens."

Yamagata bristled at that. Why couldn't the man ever say, "My fellow Americans?"

"Three days ago, the country suffered one of the most devastating monster attacks in recent memory. We watched our cities burn and hundreds of thousands of people die. Yet as tragic as that was, hundreds of thousands more have been saved from the ruin thanks to the efforts of the committed volunteers of the Civilian Emergency Mobilization Corps. These dedicated men and women have been at the forefront of our rescue and relief efforts. They have pulled victims out of rubble, set up evacuation centers for refugees, lent their expertise to local authorities, and in one heart-warming case in Tallahassee, one CEMCOR volunteer reunited a five-year-old girl with her pet kitten."

Zamora leaned forward a bit. "For those of you who have lost homes in the Gigan attacks, for those of you worried about where you will live, if you'll have a job to go back to, let me assure you, you will be helped. When disasters like this happen, it is the government's duty to provide to all those affected. More CEMCOR volunteers are on their way to Florida and Alabama as we speak. I have also called back Congress from their holiday recess so they can craft a bill to provide everything needed to get all of you in the affected areas back on your feet. In addition, the brave men and women of our armed forces are working tirelessly to locate Gigan and prevent future attacks like the ones we saw along the Gulf Coast. I have also ordered the Director of CEMCOR to assign volunteers as lookouts from coast to coast to help the military keep an eye out for Gigan."

"The President really loves talking up CEMCOR, doesn't he?" Sharpe pointed out. "I think every speech he's given the last few days he's mentioned them at least twenty times."

"CEMCOR is The President's pride and joy, Lieutenant" said Hernandez. "He actually believes creating that organization is his greatest accomplishment."

"Is that an opinion or a fact, Master Sergeant?" asked Nicole.

"Fact, Ma'am. I heard it first-hand from a good friend of mine who actually knows President Zamora."

Ashby turned to Hernandez with a stunned look. "What? Are you telling me you have a friend in the White House?"

"_Had_, Sir. Roger Morton. He was the senior NCO in the first Security Forces unit I was assigned to. Good man. Taught me a lot. When he left the Air Force he joined the Secret Service and got on the President's Protection Detail."

"No shit," said McGovern.

"Yes shit, Sir. He didn't have much good to say about our Commander-in-Chief. According to him, Zamora treats all the agents on his detail like crap."

Yamagata grunted at that. Those men and women were supposed to take a bullet for Zamora. Any president, for that matter. Wouldn't you want to be nice to the people charged with protecting your ass?

"So is your friend still in the Secret Service?" asked Caputo.

"Nope," Hernandez answered. "He quit about two years ago. I know those guys aren't supposed to let their personal feelings get in the way, but Morton couldn't stand hearing President Zamora badmouth the military, calling us murdering thugs and baby killers. He also had a big problem with way Zamora talked about Castro. He told me he actually admired that commie maggot."

Yamagata did a double-take. "Wait. Castro? As in Fidel Castro?"

"That's correct, Sir."

"That's crazy," said Nicole. "President Zamora's parents fled Cuba on a raft to get away from that nutcase. Why would he think Castro is so wonderful?"

"Probably because of the way Castro dealt with his opponents."

"You mean by throwing them in dungeons if they say anything bad about him?" said Yamagata.

"Pretty much." Hernandez nodded. "The President hates opposition. He thinks people who disagree lack any kind of intelligence, that they're dangerous and that they should be shut up. At least, that's what Sergeant Morton thinks."

Yamagata looked up at the TV. Zamora continued to go on about CEMCOR, making it sound like no other relief organization was doing shit in Florida or Alabama. He thought about what Hernandez had said regarding The President. He knew Zamora was pretty far left. His agenda, when it came to things like health care, immigration and guns, proved that. But to go as far as wanting to silence opposition? To heap praise on one of the biggest dictators in the past sixty years? A dictator Zamora's parents risked their lives to escape from. He'd heard and read stuff from various conservative commentators and columnists about Zamora being a dictator in his own right. Yamagata always thought that was a gross exaggeration, something to stir up their listeners and readers.

Now . . .

Klaxons blared. Yamagata and the others jumped out of their seats as General Griffin's voice blared through the P/A system.

"All First Joint Special Combat Squadron air crews and senior staff report to the briefing room. Gigan has been sighted."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

_Thank you for reading this. I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Plenty more to come. I'd love to hear your thoughts about my latest Godzilla fanfic. Please leave a review, and check out my other Godzilla stories on this site._

_"Operation: Death Knell"_

_"Return of Titanosaurus"_

_"Rise of the Mechakongs"_


	8. Chapter 8

Yamagata grimaced as he looked out the MF-3 Excalibur's cockpit window. Clouds of smoke stretched across the horizon, smoke from the fires still burning in Birmingham, Memphis, Little Rock, Tulsa and several other cities. Gigan had gone on a rampage over the past two days. In addition to all the ruined cities and more than a million civilian casualties, Strategic Command Headquarters in Omaha, Fort Riley and McConnell Air Force Base in Kansas and Naval Air Station Meridian in Mississippi had all been destroyed.

All while Yamagata sat on his ass back at Moody waiting for his Excalibur to get repaired.

He tried to bury his frustration. Gigan had landed in Texas, where it blasted Fort Hood and was currently doing the same to the state capital of Austin. He needed all his focus on the coming battle.

That proved difficult when he flew past the mass of smoke billowing up from what used to be Jackson, Mississippi.

_Whoever's controlling Gigan is going to pay for this._

"Thirty miles from refueling point," announced Caputo.

Now Yamagata really had to clear his mind. Mid-air refueling was one of the most dangerous tasks for a fighter pilot, sometimes more dangerous than combat. Flying at a couple of hundred miles per hour, you had come up right on another plane's ass also flying a couple of hundred miles per hour. Then you had to connect the receptacle on the nose of your plane with the tanker's boom and maintain contact while hundreds upon hundreds of gallons of jet fuel flowed between both aircraft. One wrong move, one moment of inattention, and both planes would light up the sky like a miniature supernova.

Yamagata kept his eyes straight ahead as he neared the KC-135 Stratotanker. He followed the boom operator's instructions to the letter, applied gentle touches to the control stick, and . . .

Receptacle and boom met perfectly. Yamagata maintained his speed and kept within the air refueling envelope. He took occasional glances at the digital fuel gauge in his Helmet Mounted Display. The numbers climbed steadily.

The tanks were topped off without incident. Yamagata disconnected the Excalibur from the flying boom.

"India Romeo Three," he radioed the Stratotanker crew. "I'm giving you five stars for your service. Thanks for the drink."

"We aim to please, Beastmaster One. Good hunting."

"Roger that."

Yamagata banked the Excalibur left. He brought the engine to full military power and pointed the nose west. The jet passed over the Red River in Louisiana when General Griffin contacted them.

"Change of plans, gentlemen. Gigan is on the move again."

"Where's he headed?" asked Yamagata.

"Southeast, toward Houston. Beastmaster Two and Three are about to refuel over Waco. Link up with them over the Sabine River and head to Houston. Once there, you'll join the Texas Air National Guard and planes from the _Roosevelt_ for a strike package on Gigan. We're transmitting your new mission profile right now."

Yamagata tapped a few buttons on his console. His updated orders appeared in his HMD.

"New mission profile received. Heading for rendezvous point now."

"Acknowledged," said Griffin. "Good luck."

Yamagata programmed in the new flight plan, then glanced out the windows. Whatever smoke stained the skies over Louisiana had come from neighboring states. New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Shreveport had all been spared Gigan's wrath.

For now.

A long, winding ribbon of blue appeared on the horizon. The Sabine River, which divided Louisiana and Texas. Above it, over the small town of Geneva, Texas, were two dark, knife-shaped objects with swept wings.

"Beastmaster Two and Three," Yamagata radioed, "this is Beastmaster One. I have a visual on you."

"Likewise, One," replied Lieutenant "Blade" Sharpe. "Welcome back to the wild blue yonder."

"It's good to be back. How about we celebrate by blowing Gigan back to whatever planet he came from?"

"I'm with you all the way, Ninja."

Yamagata took lead, with Sharpe's and Ashby's Excaliburs off his port and starboard wings respectively. They'd gone about 30 miles when a new voice came over the radio.

"Beastmaster Flight, this is Sentinel Five."

"Beastmaster," he replied to the AWACS orbiting eastern Texas. "Go."

"Proceed to coordinates three one nine four and hold at angels fifteen."

"Coordinates three one nine four, hold at angels fifteen. Roger that, Sentinel."

Yamagata drew back the stick a bit. The Excalibur climbed until it reached 15,000 feet, then leveled out.

The Beastmasters waited.

"Gettin' crowded up here." McGovern gazed out the windows.

Yamagata swung his head left to right. Dozens of jets flew in racetrack patterns. F/A-18s, F-16s, F-35s and armed Predator drones. He thought of all he ordnance they carried, enough to wipe out a major military base.

Would it be enough to stop Gigan?

They continued punching holes in the sky for five minutes. Ten minutes. Yamagata kept gazing south, toward Houston. Large black clouds of smoke rose from the city. He clenched his teeth and shifted in his seat.

_C'mon, Sentinel. What are you waiting for?_

The minutes dragged by. The smoke cloud grew bigger. More destruction. More death. He was finally back in the cockpit and still he was doing nothing.

"Sentinel Five to strike package. Engage Gigan. Repeat, engage Gigan.

"About time," Yamagata muttered under his breath before replying, "Roger, Sentinel. Beastmaster engaging target."

He banked the Excalibur south. "Beastmaster Two and Three, on me. Wizzos," he used the slang for weapons systems officer. Ready plasma-yield missiles. Set launcher to ripple fire."

"How many missiles you want in the first volley?" asked McGovern.

"All of them."

McGovern stared at him for a couple of seconds, then nodded. "I'm down with that."

Yamagata aimed his gaze straight ahead. The cityscape of Houston grew larger by the second. Some might think expending every single missile in one pass was overkill.

They'd be right. But that was the point of a strike package. Put as much ordnance as possible on one target. Overwhelm the enemy. Monsters like Gigan were tough. They could absorb incredible amounts of punishment. But they weren't invincible. They could be hurt, they could bleed. Some had even died. If they couldn't kill Gigan, maybe they could injure it enough to force it to retreat.

_So he can heal, come back and take out more cities._

Yamagata shook off the thought. Right now, all that mattered was stopping Gigan from destroying more of Houston.

Flames swept through the western section of the city. A dark shape moved through the fire and smoke. Buildings crumbled around it.

Yamagata's eyes bore in on Gigan.

"Strike package," said the air weapons officer onboard the AWACS. "Drop ordnance! Drop ordnance!"

"Missiles away!" hollered McGovern.

A series of thumps went through the Excalibur. Contrails stretched out from the plane. More missiles shot across the sky. Dozens more contrails cut swaths through the air. Behind them fell bombs. Lots of bombs, like shower of dark, oblong raindrops.

All headed toward Gigan.

"All missiles expended," reported McGovern.

"Roger." Yamagata shoved the stick left. The Excalibur banked away from Gigan. Yamagata took quick glances out the windows. He spotted Beastmaster Two and Three following him.

"Caputo. Bring up rear camera."

"Roger."

A box appeared in Yamagata's HMD. It showed Gigan stopping and looking up at the sky. It swung its massive body left, then right. Yamagata got ready to throw the jet into a bank, just in case the monster fired.

Missiles slammed into Gigan. Fireballs burst all over its body. More plumes of flame erupted around Gigan as the bombs hit. The explosions merged into a single, roiling mass of orange and black. It grew larger by the second, consuming Gigan, consuming several blocks around the monster.

More missiles and bombs hit, adding to the hellish maelstrom.

"Holy shit," Caputo uttered. "No way Gigan could survive that. No way."

Yamagata didn't say anything. He stared at the massive firestorm. Was it possible? Did they finally hit Gigan with enough firepower to finish him?

"Sentinel Five. Can anyone confirm target's status?"

"Negative," replied Yamagata. "Beastmaster One has no visual on Gigan."

Several other pilots reported the same thing. All the fire, smoke and debris obscured any sign of Gigan.

"This is War Party Six," someone called out. "I'm going in for a closer look."

"Roger, Six," replied the AWACS air weapons officer. "Proceed with caution."

"Always."

Yamagata saw a lone F/A-18 dive toward the huge cloud of fire and smoke.

"Still too much smoke," reported War Party Six as he passed by the conflagration. "I can't see a thing. I'm gonna circle back."

The Hornet swung left and approached the cloud again.

"Still no sign of -"

A red beam sliced through the flaming cloud. The Hornet exploded into nothingness.

"Dammit!" McGovern banged his fist on the console.

Gigan stumbled out of the inferno. Smoke billowed from its body. Yamagata noticed several ugly dark patches over its shoulders and torso. That had to be from the plasma-yield missiles.

They had hurt Gigan, but it was still in the fight.

"Sentinel Five. Gigan is alive," reported Yamagata. "Repeat, Gigan is wounded, but still alive."

A pause. "Sentinel Five to Strike Package. Fire at will on Gigan."

Several jets dove at Gigan. Contrails streaked through the air. Flames and sparks erupted from Gigan as the missiles impacted. The monster arched its back. Red beams shot from its eye. Two F-16s and an F-35 vanished in flashes of orange and black.

"Beastmaster Two and Three. Follow me in. We're going low and hitting Gigan's legs with our freeze rays."

"Roger," both Sharpe and Ashby replied.

The three Excaliburs roared over Houston until they reached Galveston Bay. They arced around and rocketed back toward the city. Yamagata saw Gigan in the distance, firing its eye laser. Three fireballs sprouted in the air. More jets destroyed.

Contrails streaked under the Excaliburs, from the direction of the Gulf of Mexico. They had to be cruise missiles from the cruiser _Vicksburg _and destroyers _Farragut _and _Truxtun._ He followed their trails, buildings flashing past as they drew closer to Gigan.

"I have weps," said Yamagata.

"You have weps," replied McGovern.

Digital crosshairs popped up in his HMD. He nudged the control stick, aiming just below the monster's waist. Gigan continued to blast planes out of the air. The cruise missiles closed in on it.

Yamagata could use those to his advantage.

One missile exploded against Gigan's stomach. Another fireball erupted from it. Another. Another. Gigan flailed its scythe-like arms, probably roaring in anger, maybe even pain.

It was distracted, just like Yamagata hoped.

"Beastmasters! Fire freeze rays!"

White beams shot from the nose of each Excalibur. Chunks of ice formed and spread over Gigan's legs and waist.

"Break off!" ordered Yamagata. "Break off!"

He put his Excalibur into a vertical climb. Sharpe went left and Ashby right. Yamagata bared his teeth and groaned, g-forces threatening to crush him. He twisted the jet, rolled it over and straightened it out in a perfect Immelmann Turn. Yamagata looked down at the ruins of western Houston. Gigan lay on its side.

"Gigan is down!" he radioed. "Repeat, Gigan is down."

The monster rolled onto its stomach. It spread its wings and lifted off the ground. Buildings shattered as Gigan flew into them before gaining altitude.

"And he's back up," said McGovern.

Yamagata scowled before getting on the radio. "All flights. Gigan is airborne. Repeat, Gigan is airborne. Evasive maneuvers."

He threw the Excalibur into a hard left bank. A red beam streaked over the jet.

"Whoa!" blurted McGovern.

Yamagata spotted Gigan climbing higher. It smashed into an F/A-18. More lasers shot from its eye. Two F-16s exploded. Gigan swung its right arm and shattered a Predator drone.

Yamagata banked right, then left. His head swiveled, searching for any sign of Gigan. McGovern did the same.

"Beastmaster One!" shouted Ashby. "Gigan's on your six!"

Yamagata shoved the stick right. The Excalibur rolled and dove toward the ground. He glimpsed the massive form of Gigan fly overhead, much too close for comfort. Turbulence bracketed the jet. Yamagata straightened out, then banked right. He pushed the throttles and blasted through the sky. The fighter pilot's motto blared in his mind. _Speed is life._

He craned his neck to the left. Gigan blasted an F-35 out of the sky and turned right.

Headed right for him.

"This thing must really hate us." Yamagata put the Excalibur in a tight left turn, then jinked right. Two beams shot past the jet.

A third clipped the left side. A quake rocked the Excalibur. Yamagata clamped both hands on the control stick. The jet veered right.

"Caputo!" he yelled. "Damage!"

"Slight hull damage. No breeches."

Yamagata pulled back on the stick. The jet rocketed skywards. He rolled it and dove. A red laser shot past. He leveled out and banked right. Yamagata checked the feed from the rear camera.

Gigan was still on their six.

"Beastmaster One. Gigan's still after us. Someone get this ugly bastard off our ass."

"I'm on it, Ninja," replied Sharpe.

"I'm with you, Blade," said Ashby.

Yamagata banked and jinked. Another beam missed the Excalibur. He banked left and glanced at the rear camera feed.

Sharpe's and Ashby's Excaliburs dropped behind Gigan. Blue particle beams and yellow tracers from the GAU-30 cannons raked the alien monster. Sparks and flames sprang from its greenish-blue hide.

Gigan pulled up and climbed higher.

"I think this thing is trying to loop around us," reported Blade.

"Evasive maneuvers!" hollered Yamagata. "Evasive maneuvers!"

He threw the jet into a tight right turn. When he straightened out, the waters of the Gulf of Mexico lay in the distance. Yamagata looked in all directions. No sign of Gigan.

"Does anyone have eyes on Gigan?"

"Negative," answered McGovern.

"Nothing on rear camera," said Caputo.

"Beastmaster Three, tally on Gigan," radioed Ashby. "He's diving on you Ninja!"

Yamagata banked right. A laser beam streaked by him.

The Excalibur shot over Galveston Bay. He turned his head left as far as it would go.

Gigan bore down on him. It fired another laser beam. Miss.

Yamagata jinked left, then right. He passed over the little band of green that was the Bolivar Peninsula. The Gulf stretched out before him.

Another laser beam missed the Excalibur.

Yamagata banked right when a stream of blue flame flashed over the jet.

"What the hell?" he blurted.

The blue flames struck Gigan. A ball of fire erupted from its right shoulder. Gigan rolled on its back and spiraled toward the water.

"The cavalry's here," said McGovern. "A big, green fire-breathing cavalry."

Yamagata straightened out the Excalibur and looked below.

Godzilla stood in the Gulf of Mexico.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	9. Chapter 9

Godzilla watched Gigan hit the water. An enormous white geyser shot up. When it settled, Godzilla scanned the water. He found no sign of Gigan.

Godzilla roared and submerged. He swam a short distance before he spotted the alien monster. It sank deeper into the Gulf of Mexico, banging at the ice around its waist and legs with its right hand.

Kicking with his powerful legs, tail slashing through the water, Godzilla raced toward Gigan.

The alien monster struck the ice again, again. The next impact shattered it. Chunks tumbled through the water.

Godzilla slammed into Gigan. The alien sailed backwards. Godzilla opened his maw and spat radioactive fire. Gigan twisted away at the last minute. It fired its eye laser. The beam clipped one of the armored plates running down Godzilla's back. He growled in pain.

Gigan raised its arms. It shot through the water, heading toward the surface. Godzilla followed.

Huge curtains of water exploded around Gigan as it broke the surface and took to the air. Godzilla surfaced seconds later. A jet of blue flame shot from his mouth. He missed. Godzilla breathed fire again.

This time he hit Gigan. A plume of fire and smoke gushed from its torso. The monster spun through the air, emitting an ear-splitting wail. It smashed into the Bolivar Peninsula. Dozens of homes were smashed to splinters as Gigan carved out a giant fissure across the length of the land mass.

Godzilla plowed through The Gulf. When he reached the peninsula, Gigan pushed itself to its feet. Godzilla roared and stomped toward the other monster. Gigan turned around and screeched. It fired its eye laser. The beam struck Godzilla in the chest. He roared and stumbled back, smoke rising from the wound.

Gigan shrieked and jumped toward Godzilla. It landed in front of him and bit into his shoulder with its beaked mouth. Godzilla roared, blades of pain reaching out from his shoulder to his entire body. He punched Gigan once, twice, three times. The alien monster let go. Blood streamed from Godzilla's right shoulder. He fought off the pain, twisted around and swung his tail. He nailed Gigan in the side. The monster staggered.

Godzilla spun around and charged. He rammed into Gigan, knocking him down. The entire peninsula shook from the mini-quake of the monster's impact.

Godzilla roared and raised his foot. Gigan lashed out with its blade arm. It sliced through the thick scales of Godzilla's right leg. He cried out in pain and fell on his back.

Gigan jumped to its feet. It clanged its blade arms together and screeched. Its right arm went up, then plunged toward Godzilla.

He rolled out of the way. The blade tore into the ground where he had laid a second before.

Godzilla pushed himself to his feet. Gigan pulled its arm out of the ground and swung it, hitting Godzilla in the stomach with the flat part of the blade. He staggered a couple of steps, then roared. Godzilla swung his right arm. He struck Gigan in the side of the head. Godzilla punched the other monster again and again. Gigan screeched and slashed Godzilla's side. Blood streamed from the wound.

Godzilla roared and raked his claws down Gigan's shoulder and chest. The sharp talons cut into flesh charred from the plasma-yield warheads. Gigan spasmed and let out an unholy shriek. Godzilla held his hand straight and drove it into the wound. It pierced the blackened hide. Green blood cascaded over Godzilla's hand and fell to the ground. Gigan wailed. It swung its right arm and hit Godzilla's shoulder with a glancing blow. Godzilla pulled his blood-soaked hand out of Gigan's shoulder. The alien monster turned and rose off the ground. Godzilla reached up and grabbed Gigan's tail. It jolted to a halt in mid-air.

Godzilla swung down. Gigan slammed into the ground. A massive dust cloud rose and the entire peninsula shook. Gigan rolled on its back. A red beam shot out of the cloud. It missed Godzilla.

The second beam didn't. It struck Godzilla in the base of his neck. Searing pain drove deep into his bones. Godzilla cried out and stumbled back.

Gigan charged out of the dust cloud, both arms extended. Godzilla shook his head, trying to fight off the pain. He saw Gigan rushing toward him. Godzilla opened his mouth. The plates on his back glowed blue.

Gigan's blade arms pierced Godzilla's torso.

Godzilla cried out in agony. The blue glow on his plates faded.

Gigan shrieked and took to the sky, Godzilla still impaled by its blade arms. The mutated dinosaur jerked left and right, trying to free itself.

Gigan dug its blades deeper into Godzilla's torso. Both monsters flew higher and higher, ultimately passing the stratosphere. Gigan leveled out and headed north. By the time he was over Canada, Godzilla's struggles lessened as the loss of blood weakened him.

They passed over the Northwest Territories, over the Queen Elizabeth Islands and deeper into the Arctic. Gleaming white ice stretched all around them.

Gigan dove toward the surface. It spotted a large crevasse running alongside a series of glaciers.

From five miles up, it withdrew its blades from Godzilla. He fell through the frigid air, letting out a prolonged wail.

Godzilla slammed into bottom of the crevasse. Pain crushed every bone, every cell in his body. He blacked out.

Gigan landed nearby. It fired its eye laser in one sustained blast. The beam cut through the glacier. Chunks of ice blew out from it. Soon whole sections of the glaciers toppled over.

Godzilla's eyes flickered open. Pain battered his entire body. He growled, slowly beginning to push himself up.

Thousands upon thousands of tons of solid ice crashed down on Godzilla.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	10. Chapter 10

Yamagata put the Excalibur into a dive. The digital crosshairs settled on Gigan's back as it smashed through an overpass. His thumb hovered over the freeze ray firing button. Gigan grew larger by the second.

_Now!_

Yamagata pressed the button.

Nothing.

He pressed it again. The freeze ray still didn't fire.

"Shit!" He broke off and flew west. Smoke billowed into the air from dozens of massive fires raging throughout Phoenix, Arizona.

"Caputo! What the hell's wrong with the freeze ray?"

The Excalibur's sensor operator stared at his console. "We've got a coolant leak. I'm gonna have to power it down before it affects our other systems. Sorry, Sir. We're gonna have to fight this battle without the freeze ray."

Yamagata clenched his teeth, holding back the primal scream he wanted to unleash.

"What the hell?" McGovern threw up his arms. "I thought the ground crew fixed the damn thing."

"It was more of a patch job than an actual fix." Rage battered Yamagata in waves. The 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron had gone through much of their stockpile of replacement parts during the now two-week long Gigan rampage. For whatever reason, requests for more had been held up by the Pentagon. The same with requests for additional plasma-yield missiles, 30mm shells and particle beam power cells.

Did the dumbasses at Fort Fumble not realize a giant monster was wrecking half the country?

Yamagata circled around and formed up with Ashby's Excalibur. More anger burned inside him. Sharpe should also be here, but he was stuck back at base, his jet grounded due to a lack of spare parts.

Particle beams flashed from both Excaliburs. F-35s from nearby Luke Air Force Base dropped AGM-154 glide bombs. Massive fireballs erupted around and on Gigan. The monster twisted left and fired its eye laser. An F-35 exploded.

"I've got missile lock," announced McGovern.

"These are our last two," said Yamagata. "Make 'em count."

"Trust me, I will." A pause. "Missiles away!"

The missiles shot away from the Excalibur. Yamagata banked right. He leveled out and looked behind him.

Gigan's eye beam blasted both missiles out of the sky.

"Dammit!"

The alien monster raised its arms and arched its back. Yamagata guessed it let out a roar.

It then flew into the sky.

"Gigan's bugging out." Yamagata pulled back on the stick and fired burst after burst from the particle beam cannons. More beams came from Ashby's Excalibur, while the surviving F-35s spat 25mm rounds. Most of the shots missed as Gigan climbed higher into the sky and ultimately vanished.

"Looks like we drove 'im off." McGovern glanced out the cockpit windows. "For what it's worth."

Yamagata leveled out and gazed down at Phoenix. Clouds of smoke hovered in the air. Pockets of flame dotted the desert city.

Another city left in ruins by Gigan.

"Nothing more we can do here, guys," Yamagata said in a flat tone. "Let's hook up with the tanker and RTB." He used the acronym for Return To Base.

The two Excaliburs flew east. Yamagata took one last look at the hellish scene that was Phoenix. His stomach twisted, thinking of the tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, dead and injured in that inferno. How many more cities, how many more people, would suffer the same fate?

He looked straight ahead as the urban landscape – what remained of it – gave way to brown desert and grayish mountains. All they've done is hurt Gigan and driven it off. They had yet to deliver the fatal blow. Yamagata began to wonder if they ever could do it. Maybe Godzilla could, but the King of the Monsters lay under thousands of tons of ice in the Arctic. No one knew if he was dead or alive.

Either way, it was solely up to the U.S. Armed Forces to stop Gigan.

Yamagata and Ashby rendezvoused with a KC-135 near Santa Fe, New Mexico and topped off their tanks for the return trip to Joint Base Richards-Gebaur in Kansas City, Missouri. At least the 1st JSCS was back at its home base, strategically located in the center of the country. Now they could respond to any Gigan attack in a more timely manner than they if had remained at Moody Air Force Base.

Not that it had helped much, given all the cities the monster had destroyed.

Yamagata began his descent over central Kansas. Soon he saw the runways, hangars and buildings surrounded by farmland. Joint Base Richards-Gebaur, formerly Richards-Gebaur Air Force Base. Opened in 1941 as a civilian airport, the Army Air Force used it to train transport pilots during World War II. After that, it hosted fighter and transport squadrons throughout the Cold War until its closure in 1994. The Pentagon reopened the base four years ago when the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron was stood up.

Yamagata landed and taxied the Excalibur into a reinforced concrete hangar. When he exited the plane, Sharpe was there to greet him.

"I heard your freeze ray crapped out."

"Yeah. Perfect time for it. Where's General Griffin?"

"I think he's still in his office," Sharpe answered.

"Thanks." Yamagata strode out of the hangar just as Ashby's Excalibur touched down. He took slow, measured breaths. He wanted to be calm and cool when he talked with General Griffin. All anger had to be expunged.

That proved difficult every time he thought of the freeze malfunctioning during his attack run on Gigan.

Yamagata marched into the reception area of Griffin's office. A petite blonde in a blue US Air Force service dress uniform sat behind the desk.

"Is General Griffin in there?" His tone was sharper than he wanted. Right now, he didn't care.

"Um, Yes, Sir. He's on the phone with NORAD." She referred to the North American Aerospace Defense Command, which monitored US and Canadian air space for any threats. "I'll let him know you're here."

Yamagata nodded. He didn't bother sitting down. He just stared at the door to General Griffin's office.

Ten minutes passed before the receptionist said, "The general's off the phone. I'll let him know you're here, Major."

Yamagata just grunted in response.

The receptionist picked up the phone. "General, Major Yamagata would like to see you . . . Yes, Sir." She looked up at Yamagata. "You can go in."

He entered the office, shut the door and saluted.

"At ease, Major," Griffin said after returning the salute. "What do you want?"

"More spare parts and more ordnance."

Griffin sighed and leaned back in his cushioned swivel chair. "I know. We've been having some problems with the Air Force Acquisition Office."

"What kind of problems?"

"Money issues. They say they don't have the necessary funds to acquire all the plasma-yield missiles we requested."

Shock and anger stormed through Yamagata. "Are they not aware we've got a giant space monster blowing the hell out of our country?"

"Even in a crisis as serious as this, people back in Washington are mindful of budgets."

"We need those missiles, General, and replacement parts for my Excalibur's freeze ray, and parts for a lot of other systems for all the Excaliburs."

"I've made them aware of all our needs. The Deputy Assistant Secretary for Acquisition has spoken with several members of Congress to include funding for more weapons and parts for the Excaliburs in the Gigan disaster aid bill they're debating."

Yamagata snorted. "Given the way Congress works, by the time we see those missiles and parts, the whole country will be nothing but a big cinder."

"I understand your frustration, Major," said Griffin, "but I've done all I can to speed up the process."

"Do more, Sir."

Griffin's eyes widened. The disbelief on his face morphed into outrage.

Yamagata knew he'd gone too far. Majors did not tell generals to do a damn thing.

He then thought about the freeze ray's malfunction, the squadron's lack of ordnance and parts. Suddenly insubordination didn't mean shit to him.

"You are out of line, Major," Griffin spoke in a deliberate tone.

"My apologies, Sir, but it's my ass in that cockpit, and the lives of all my men up there with me, and the lives of everyone on the ground we're protecting. If we don't have enough weapons and the proper parts to fight Gigan effectively, people die. Maybe you should tell that to those half-assed bureaucrats at the Pentagon and light a fire under them to get us what we need to do our damn job!"

"That's enough!" Griffin shot out of his seat. "I don't give a damn how upset you are, that doesn't give you cause to show disrespect toward a superior officer. If it weren't for the fact Gigan is still threatening this country, I'd have you grounded and brought up on charges of insubordination. In fact, that's what I'll likely do when this crisis is over, unless you're foolish enough to speak this way to your commanding officer again. Understood, Major?"

Yamagata just glared at Griffin.

The general stepped toward him, his face less than a foot from Yamagata's. "I said, 'Understood, Major?'"

"Yes, Sir," he replied through clenched teeth.

"Dismissed."

Yamagata left the office, slamming the door behind him and causing the receptionist to jump. He stalked down the halls of the administration building.

_Stupid, Jeff. Stupid!_ What the hell had he accomplished in there? Punishment down the road? A disciplinary write-up in his jacket that might cost him a promotion to lieutenant colonel.

_At least I fought for my men, which is more than Griffin's doing. _

Despite the incident with the general, Yamagata knew Griffin was not the worst commanding officer he'd ever had. He also wasn't the best. While Griffin usually placed a great amount of faith and trust in his subordinates, the man caved too quickly when the higher-ups shot down his requests, even for important things like more missiles and parts. A commander who really had his people's best interests at heart would find ways to keep fighting until he got what they needed.

_So are you going to stop fighting for what your men need?_

The answer to that was no. Yamagata just had to find a better, more diplomatic way, to make his case to General Griffin.

And try to keep his anger in check.

_Good luck with that._

At least Grandpop wasn't there to see him meltdown. The man would have given him one hell of a lecture about discipline and maintaining his composure.

And maybe some of it would actually sink in.

Yamagata went to his quarters and stripped out of his flightsuit. He showered, changed into a fresh black-beige-olive MARPAT – Marine Pattern – uniform and headed for the mess hall. He saw Nicole by one of the coffee dispensers, pouring the black liquid into a large thermos. His mood improved instantly.

He smiled and walked up to her. "Well, if it isn't the _Fox_iest officer in the US Air Force."

Nicole turned to him. Her usual bright smile was gone. Dark circles showed prominently under her eyes. Several lines extended from the corners of her eyes. All in all, she looked worn out.

_You could say the same about yourself. _Yamagata noticed bags under his eyes and a rather droopy expression every time he looked in the mirror. That description could probably fit everyone in the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron. They all suffered from lack of sleep and lack of success. Probably the reason why he went off on General Griffin.

"How are you doing?" he asked Nicole.

"Fine," she muttered, taking out a small bottle of Five-Hour Energy and dumping it into her thermos.

Yamagata cringed. He wasn't much of a coffee drinker and detested energy drinks. Chocolate-covered espresso beans did a much better job of keeping him awake.

"So, um, any progress on finding a control signal for Gigan?"

"No," Nicole snapped. "Just like the last time you asked, and the time before that and the time before that. All we do is stare at our screens until our eyeballs melt without a damn thing to show for it and General Griffin thinking if he rides our asses more we'll suddenly find something."

She took a swig from her thermos. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to the SIGINT room."

Nicole stormed past him and out the mess hall to rejoin her Signals Intelligence crew. Yamagata stared at the exit.

_Everyone's in a bad mood today._

He grabbed a couple of hamburgers from a heated chafing dish and a plastic container of coleslaw before taking a seat and pulling out his iPad. He typed his after-action report on the Phoenix engagement while eating. Yamagata had to pause numerous times, searching for the proper words. A thick fog settled over his brain. What he really wanted to do was sleep.

Scratch that. What he really wanted was Nicole. The few times they had slept together over the past two weeks, that's exactly what they had done. Slept. What he wouldn't give for just ten minutes alone with her. No Gigan, no supply problems. Just him and Nicole, making love.

But that wouldn't happen until Gigan was defeated, if that was possible.

And if he were alive when it was all said and done.

Yamagata continued to eat and type. When he got stuck on a line, his attention wandered to the TV. At one point, FOX News showed a mass of people trying to storm a Wal-Mart in Detroit. A line of police in riot gear kept them back.

He'd watched similar scenes on the news for the past couple of days. Chicago, New York, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, St. Louis. Gigan's attacks had wrecked several key points in the interstate system and the rail system. That made it difficult for trucks and trains to get food and other goods to the nation's stores. Shelves grew barer and barer, and tempers grew shorter and shorter.

Yamagata recalled something he'd heard on a doomsday scenario show he watched a few years ago. One of the experts they interviewed said, "Society is just nine meals away from anarchy."

From what he saw on the news, that guy was a damn prophet.

When he finished his report, he sent it via secure e-mail to the squadron operations officer. He finished the rest of his meal and trudged back to his BOQ – Bachelor Officers Quarters. Yamagata yanked off his boots and fell onto his bed. He was asleep in less than a minute.

Yamagata sat in a cockpit, not of his Excalibur. The jet had a pointy nose, swept wings and twin tails. He also didn't wear his standard green flightsuit. This one was white with blue trim.

_What the hell?_

"Skull Squadron. Target in sight. Fire!"

Yamagata furrowed his brow. The voice sounded so familiar. Who could it . . .

It suddenly clicked. That was Commander Roy Fokker from one of his favorite anime, _Robotech._

Yamagata was actually flying a Veritech fighter!

Gigan appeared among the burning ruins of some city. Yamagata thumbed the fire button. Missiles shot off the Veritech's wings. Contrails corkscrewed through the sky. Other Veritechs launched their missiles. Yamagata wondered which jets were flown by Rick Hunter and Max Sterling.

Dozens of missiles slammed into Gigan. A massive fireball consumed the monster.

"We did it!" Yamagata pumped his fist.

"Don't celebrate yet, Ninja," Fokker told him. "We've got company."

Yamagata looked up. Several figures in bulky red armor flying on oval-shaped cycles dove on the Veritechs. Bioroids. Cyborg warriors for the Robotech Masters.

_But Fokker and Hunter didn't fight bioroids. They were in two different parts of the series._

He shoved the discrepancy aside and raised the Veritech's nose. The Robotech Masters had to be controlling Gigan. Yamagata's finger tightened around the trigger of the laser cannon. He sighted a bioroid and –

"Jeff. Jeff! Wake up!"

His eyes snapped open. Yamagata looked around. The Veritechs and bioroids had vanished. He was back in his bedroom.

_Just a dream._

That's when he realized Nicole was standing beside his bed.

"Nicole. What's going on?"

"General Griffin wants everyone in the briefing room ASAP."

Yamagata sat up. "Is it Gigan?"

"No." Nicole shook her head. "It's The President."

"What about him?"

"He just declared martial law."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	11. Chapter 11

President Zamora allowed himself a smile as he sat back in his chair. Why shouldn't he smile? So far his plan was coming together brilliantly.

_As I always knew it would._

He looked around the Oval Office. The members of his secret inner circle sat on sofas and cushioned chairs. They consisted of his Chief of Staff and National Security Advisor, the Secretaries of the Army and Air Force, the Secretary of Transportation and CEMCOR Director Thomas Burleson. All had been with him since the beginning. All shared his vision for a more orderly, fairer America.

"So, Erica." Zamora looked to a portly black woman. "What's been the public's reaction to the declaration of martial law?"

Chief of Staff Erica Horton replied, "As you'd expect, the right-wing groups and commentators are throwing out words like dictatorship and tyrant. Of course, we'll be taking care of them soon."

Zamora's smile grew. He looked forward to that day.

"But," Horton continued, "the media outlets friendly toward us have been giving your announcement favorable coverage. A majority of the public also supports it."

"Not too surprising given all the death, destruction and chaos caused by Gigan," said a lean, mustachioed man with thinning black hair. This was Thomas Burleson, CEMCOR Director. "Your decision to nationalize all food distribution centers as part of the martial law declaration was brilliant."

"When people are hungry, food matters more to them than the concept of freedom." Zamora turned to a man with a white beard and glasses. "Just be sure to drag your feet when it comes to getting that food to them. We don't want their bellies filled just yet."

Transportation Secretary William Damaska grinned. "People have come to expect government agencies to work at a snail's pace. I won't disappoint them."

"Excellent." Zamora nodded. The hungrier people grew, the more desperate they became. When you controlled the food supply, you controlled them.

He looked to Garry Reese and Cesar Oliva, the Secretaries of the Army and Air Force respectively. "How much of the military has Gigan destroyed?"

"The attacks on Fort Hood and Fort Riley eliminated a significant portion of the Army's combat forces in the Continental United States," said Reese. "In addition, several National Guard units have suffered heavy casualties, making them unable to carry out rescue and relief efforts in the states attacked by Gigan."

"And CEMCOR is ready to fill that vacuum," Burleson said with no small amount of pride.

"The Air Force has lost over half their combat aircraft," stated Oliva. "I've also made use of the service's massive bureaucracy to hold up delivery of additional weapons and supplies to the First Joint Special Combat Squadron."

"Good," said Zamora. "Those plasma-yield missiles caused too many injuries to Gigan for my liking. We can't risk that squadron getting a lucky shot that kills Gigan when we're so close to achieving our goal."

"I agree," replied Oliva. "But the longer we hold off on getting them their missiles and other supplies, the greater the chance this will get leaked to the press. Your support over the way you've handled this crisis could erode."

Horton snorted. "It'll never come to that. The media will be under our control long before that story ever comes out."

"I'm not sure." A concerned look spread across Reese's face. "President-elect Stanton has a lot of supporters in the military. One of them could leak the information to his people, then he'll have a field day with it."

"I've already taken that into consideration," said Zamora. "If Stanton brings the supply issue with the First Joint Special Operations Squadron to light, we can arrange for an Air Force transport to fly more missiles and parts to their base. Not that the plane will ever reach it, right, Cesar?"

Oliva grinned. "Accidents do happen, Mister President."

"Good. Though I doubt it will come to that."

"You plan to make the final move now, Mister President?" Burleson asked.

"No, not now. I will wait two more days. Let the people starve a little longer, let them live and suffer a little longer in the cities destroyed by Gigan. By then, they won't care about a lack of missiles or rants by racist cretins on TV and radio. They will only care about where their next meal comes from and who will put a roof over their heads. Then, we will finally be able to do what we have dreamed of, what we have strived for, for years. We shall finally right all the wrongs this country has perpetrated, and reshape it in our image."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	12. Chapter 12

Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo sat in the air crew ready room, going over video of previous Gigan attacks to try and find any weaknesses in the monster, when a burly man with thinning black hair entered.

"I did it," announced Technical Sergeant Dan Pryor, the crew chief for Beastmaster One. "Your freeze ray's good to go."

Yamagata spun around in his cushioned chair, eyes wide with surprise. "You're serious?"

Pryor beamed and nodded. "Yes I am, Sir. I finished the repairs not more than ten minutes ago."

"How the hell did you do that?" asked McGovern, while Caputo muted the wall monitor. "I thought we were still waiting for spare parts."

"Well, we are, _officially. _But I did some . . . stuff. It may be on the up and up, it may not be, who's to say?"

Yamagata couldn't help but grin. "Sergeant, the way things are right now, if you had to hold the entire cast of some Disney Channel show hostage to get those parts, I wouldn't care. Good job."

"Thank you, Sir."

"And if you have to do anything else unofficially to get parts for our Excalibur or the other ones, I'll be sure to look the other way."

"That goes double for me." McGovern raised his hand, while Caputo nodded.

"You can count on it."

Yamagata expected Pryor to head back out to the flightline. Instead the crew chief stood there, gaze aimed at the carpet, a look of concern on his face.

"Something on your mind, Sergeant?"

Pryor cleared his throat and lifted his head. "Well, Sir, it's just . . . some of my crew have been talking. They have concerns about The President's martial law declaration."

Yamagata stretched out his hand toward a chair across from him. Pryor sat in it.

"So what has your crew been saying?"

Pryor drew a breath. "Well, Estes got a text from his uncle, who's a town councilman in Colorado. He went on this radio show railing against martial law, and a few hours later some CEMCOR people showed up and told him to shut up. Then Halsey heard the sheriff in his home county got hauled off by the FBI for refusing to deputize CEMCOR volunteers like The President ordered. There've also been all kinds of crazy Facebook posts and tweets about CEMCOR people going into gun stores demanding lists of their customers and stealing food and other supplies from Christian-based relief groups. My crew's worried, Sir. I think a lot of other people on this base are worried, too. Hell, I'm worried."

"I can certainly understand everyone's worry," said Yamagata. "Let's face it, nationwide martial law and deputizing a controversial organization of civilian volunteers is not something a lot of Americans can imagine. But these are extraordinary circumstances we're faced with. Cities from coast to coast destroyed, millions dead, and look at all the losses we've taken, that all the Armed Forces have taken. Even during the Civil War and World War Two, the government took all sorts of extreme security measures, from reading mail to suspending _habeas corpus _when it comes to detaining prisoners. Once the wars were over, those measures ended."

Yamagata leaned forward. "I respect the concerns of your men and women, Sergeant. But there's not much we can do about these alleged abuses of power by CEMCOR. The best thing we can do is to keep our planes flying and take out Gigan. Then things can go back to normal. Tell that to your crew."

"Yes, Sir." Pryor nodded. "Thank you, Sir."

Pryor got up and left the ready room.

"That was some good advice there, Ninja," said McGovern.

"Thanks."

"So do you believe it?"

Yamagata just stared at McGovern. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I have to."

He let out a sigh, then got up. "I'll be right back."

Yamagata exited the ready room. He walked down the hallway with its beige walls and black and white photographs of Richards-Gebaur Air Force Base from the 1950s and went into the men's room. After checking to make sure he was alone, he pulled out his cell phone and called his father.

"Jeff?"

"Yeah, it's me, Dad."

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I figured you'd be too busy to call, what with everything going on."

"Well, I've got a few minutes to myself," Yamagata said.

"Are you okay?" His father asked.

"Yeah."

"And Nicole?"

"She's fine, too. Stressed, but fine."

"I think everyone in the country is stressed right now," Dad said.

"Yeah." Yamagata paused. "Dad, is everything fine back there in Washington?"

"Yes, as far as Gigan attacks go. We've been lucky so far. He hasn't been anywhere near us, or the entire West Coast, for that matter. Closer to home, however . . ."

Yamagata furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Dad sighed. "It's your grandparents."

"Are they all right?"

"Yes, they're fine. But the other day they were driving around and went past the high school. Apparently CEMCOR is turning it into a detention facility for people who violate the curfew that's been in effect since The President declared martial law. But since your grandfather was in the internment camp when he was little, he's a bit unsettled by it."

"He doesn't think they're going to arrest him for no reason, does he?" asked Yamagata.

"He hasn't said it outright," replied Dad. "He never will. You know your grandfather. But I can tell what he saw at the high school, and this whole martial law declaration, is bothering him. Really bothering him."

"Well, I'll be honest with you. It's bothering some of the people at our base. I was just talking about it with my plane's crew chief. All I can do is tell you what I told him. The sooner we put down Gigan, the sooner the country can start getting back to normal."

"I hope so, Jeff."

Yamagata paused, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "I hope so, too, Dad."

**XXXXX**

Airman First Class Jordan Ladd knew he should have felt nervous. Instead, he was excited. He'd been waiting for this day for years.

The short, round-faced young man stood with a stoic look on his face as the Secret Service agent looked inside the cargo containers on the pallet. Ladd knew the agent wouldn't find anything. There was nothing to find.

"All good." The agent turned to him. "You can proceed."

"Thank you, Sir." Ladd shut the containers labeled TOILETRIES and secured them.

The agent nodded and strode out of the supply depot with his partner.

A smile grew on Ladd's face. He thought back to that day five years ago when he walked into the CEMCOR office in Cleveland. He had stayed away from the drugs and gangs so prevalent in his neighborhood. His grades were good. If he could put some community service experience on his college applications, the scholarship offers would roll in.

But the people at CEMCOR showed him what the world was really like. Colleges only wanted someone like him to try and prove they embraced diversity. But it was all for show. They would spend four years teaching him useless information, then kick him out into a world ruled by the white establishment. They were the ones who hoarded the nation's wealth and kept his people down. The only way someone like him could be allowed any sort of success was to turn his back on his people and act the same as the whites. Then they would point to him as proof they were not racist, that blacks could make it in this country if they worked hard.

But it was a lie. The whites would never allow him to realize his full potential. That would threaten their hold on power. Ladd would only be window dressing for the whites while they forced the rest of his people to live in squalor.

President Zamora had a plan to change that. A drastic plan. The CEMCOR people saw Ladd's potential where the white establishment could not, or would not. They told him to join the Air Force and build up an exemplary record so CEMCOR sympathizers could place him in the perfect position to act when the time came.

That time was now.

Soon he could drop this facade of the obedient airman. He could stop saluting those oh-so-superior white officers and those traitorous bastard black ones who actually believed they had achieved success on their own, and that more lay ahead for them.

_Like any of them will ever make general, or even full bird colonel._

That would change thanks to President Zamora. Finally, people like Ladd would share in the wealth and power the whites had denied them for centuries.

Ladd headed over to a forklift. He drove it forward, picked up the pallet and the containers it held, and rolled out of the supply depot. He passed two Secret Service agents and two USAF Security Forces guards. They only gave him brief glances. He didn't expect much else. They'd already searched his containers. There was nothing suspicious in them.

The pallet, however, was a different matter.

Ladd had observed how the Secret Service conducted its searches. They always checked inside the containers before they were loaded.

The pallets, however, went largely ignored. They were just a platform to support the containers during travel.

It was an oversight he and CEMCOR would exploit.

Ladd drove the forklift down the tarmac. Ahead of him sat a 747 with a white and blue color scheme.

Air Force One.

**XXXXX**

Rear Admiral Dennis Healy's worry grew with every report he read. He put down the sheaf of papers, rubbed his temples and stared out at his stateroom aboard the carrier _USS Harry Truman. _The captains, executive officers and senior NCOs throughout the task force all expressed concerns over the morale of their crews. The attacks by Gigan had been hard enough to take, especially for the men and women from those cities destroyed by the monster. Now the martial law declaration put many of his sailors on edge.

He sighed and read over a report from the captain of the destroyer _Ramage. _Several enlisted personnel and three officers openly questioned President Zamora's motives behind declaring martial law. A few even said Zamora was doing this set himself up as a dictator. All the rumors circulating through the task force only added fuel to that fire. Healy had heard everything from federal agents arresting radio talk show hosts to CEMCOR workers denying people admission into emergency shelters because of their political affiliations.

_Someone needs to tell them not to believe everything they see on the internet._

The next report he read turned out to be the most disturbing. The captain of the destroyer _Porter _had to relieve his XO when the man proclaimed that if Zamora used martial law to keep President-elect Stanton from assuming office on January 20th, the military should arrest Zamora.

"This is getting out of hand," Healy muttered. He wasn't thrilled about nationwide martial law, but with all the destruction and chaos caused by Gigan, he didn't think The President had much choice. Healy also didn't like CEMCOR being used in a law enforcement capacity. But with many military units wiped out, and the rest needed to defend the country against Gigan, there didn't seem much choice but to give CEMCOR expanded powers.

He'd have to make a task force-wide broadcast, tell the men and women under his command to stop the rumor-mongering and seditious talk and focus on their job. Killing Gigan. The sooner they did that, the sooner martial law would end.

_And the sooner everyone can regain their sanity._

Healy turned to his laptop and called up a blank word document. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, thinking of how to start his speech, when the ship's 1-MC blared.

"Admiral Healy to CIC. Admiral Healy to CIC."

He got out of his seat and exited his stateroom. He'd only taken three steps down the passageway when the klaxons sounded.

"General quarters! General quarters! All hands, man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill."

Healy picked up his pace, squeezing his hefty frame past sailors running to and fro. He was breathing a bit heavily by the time he reached _Truman's _Combat Information Center.

"What's going on?" His gaze settled on a tall, dark-haired man with a narrow face.

"The _Missouri _has picked up a sub-surface contact," replied Captain Bill Johnson, _Truman's _CO. "It's biological, and big."

"I take it it's not a whale."

"Definitely not, Sir."

Healy walked past the consoles in the red-lit CIC and stared at one of the large monitors on the bulkhead. Electronic symbols showed the positions of the ships and planes of the _Truman _and _Carl Vinson _carrier strike groups. His focus narrowed on one symbol in particular, that of the Virginia-class submarine _Missouri. _Currently the boat was located 20 miles east of _Truman's _position, and 40 miles east of Washington, DC.

"_Missouri _confirms contact as Gigan," announced Lieutenant Commander Dietz, the Tactical Action Officer. _"Missouri _engaging Gigan. Two Mark Forty-Eights in the water."

"Commander." Healy turned to Dietz. "Tell all planes and ships to converge on Gigan's position."

"Aye, Sir." Dietz picked up a phone and issued the Admiral's orders. Seconds after he put down the phone, he stated, "_Missouri_ reports two direct hits on Gigan." He frowned and looked to Healy. "No effect."

_No surprise. _Healy kept the disappointment off his face and looked up at the monitor. More than three dozen tracks representing Navy and Marine F/A-18s and F-35s and Air Force F-22s, F-16s, B-1s and MQ-9 combat drones rocketed toward Gigan's position.

"Admiral," Dietz called out with urgency. "All contact with _Missouri _lost."

"New aerial contact!" shouted one of the radar operators.

Healy saw it on the screen. The damn thing was huge. Seconds later the name GIGAN appeared next to it.

"Let's get Predator coverage on Gigan," ordered Healy.

A minute later an overhead image appeared on a monitor to his left. Gigan flew just a few dozen feet over the Atlantic. Its jetwash, for lack of a better term, kicked up a wake behind it.

Contrails struck the monster's hide and burst into fireballs. Jet fighters dove on Gigan. More missiles shot out from under their wings. Strings of yellow tracers zipped from their cannons.

Gigan raised its head. Red beams flew from its eye. Healy counted six jets vanishing in brilliant flashes. Seven. Eight. Nine.

"Contact the First Joint Special Combat Squadron," ordered Healy. "We're gonna need them."

Unfortunately, the Beastmasters had to fly halfway across the country to reach them. He wondered if anything would be left of his task force when they arrived.

_No matter. We have a job to do, and we're going to do it._

More missiles exploded against Gigan. The beast fired its laser and slashed with its scythe-like arms. More aircraft fell.

Healy looked to the monitor. His stomach turned into a painful ball of ice.

Gigan was ten miles away from the _Truman._

"Commander Dietz. Order all ships to fire at will on Gigan."

"Aye, Sir."

Healy watched as an F-22 made a strafing run on Gigan, only to be smashed to bits by the monster's arm. An F/A-18 fired two Sidewinder missiles at Gigan's eye. It fired its beam, disintegrating the missiles and the fighter.

A slender vessel with a square-shaped island came into the Predator's field of vision. The Arleigh Burke-class destroyer _Ramage. _Flashes of smoke and fire erupted from the its deck. Contrails from RIM-156 surface-to-air missiles arced over the water toward Gigan. Puffs of smoke belched from _Ramage's _5-inch gun. Tracers flew from the .50 caliber machine guns and 25mm chain guns. Flames and sparks jumped off Gigan's hide.

The barrage didn't slow it down.

Gigan flew over the destroyer and raised its arm. It swung down. The enormous blade sheered through _Ramage's_ island. Its bow rose out of the water. A pillar of flames rose from the center of the ship.

The littoral combat ship _Sioux City _opened up with its 57mm gun and RIM-116 missiles. Gigan blasted the vessel with one blast of its eye beam.

A cold sweat broke out over Healy's body as _Truman's_ SAMs fired. One missile after another exploded against Gigan without effect.

He pushed past his fear and tried to come up with a plan. His job was to defend the nation's capital. There had to be something –

Gigan fired its eye beam.

A quake tore through _Truman. _Healy flew off his feet and crashed to the deck. Screams penetrated the ringing in his ears.

_Do something. Gotta do som-_

Another blow shook _Truman_. Healy watched a roiling ball of fire blast through CIC and wash over him.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	13. Chapter 13

"Mister President! You need to evacuate the White House, now!"

Zamora's head snapped toward the entrance to the Oval Office. A thickly-built man with close-cropped black hair strode toward him. It was Frank Lynn, the agent in charge of his protection detail. Two other Secret Service agents were on Lynn's heels.

"What's going on?"

"Gigan's approaching Washington," Lynn answered. "Marine One is preparing for takeoff as we speak. We need to go now, Sir."

Before Zamora could respond, the other agents were at his side, practically lifting him out of his chair. They whisked him out the door and into the wide, ornate hallway. Alarms droned throughout the White House. People hurried out of offices. Zamora checked behind him. Chief of Staff Erica Horton, Secretary of the Army Garry Reese and Secretary of the Air Force Cesar Oliva did their best to keep up.

Next thing Zamora knew he was outside on the South Lawn. A bulbous green and white helicopter sat on the expanse of neatly trimmed grass, blades spinning and thumping. Lynn and his agents herded him up the steps of Marine One. Zamora dropped into one of the cushioned leather seats as Horton, Reese and Oliva rushed aboard. The trio had barely taken their seats when a Marine crewman pulled up the steps. Seconds later the helicopter was airborne.

Zamora stared out the square window, the nation's capital stretching before him. His gaze lingered on the Internal Revenue Service and Department of Justice buildings. There were a number of people in both agencies who would support what he was about to do.

He had the same thought as the marble rotunda of the US Capitol Building came into view. Several representatives and senators had demonstrated unwavering loyalty for every one of his policies and initiatives, and attacked his opponents with rabid fury.

Many of them would not survive the coming attack by Gigan. Such a shame. They would have been useful in turning his vision of this country into reality.

Alas, their deaths were a necessary price to pay to bring about his perfect nation. A nation where those forced to wallow in poverty and misery got everything they needed, where those who acknowledged America's history of injustice and inequity and worked to correct them would be rewarded.

A nation where agents of dissent were silenced, where the greedy, the destroyers of the Earth and the so-called "patriots" got what they deserved.

It wasn't long before Marine One landed at Joint Base Andrews. Lynn and his agents hustled Zamora off the helicopter and toward Air Force One. The plane's four jet engines emitted a deafening whine.

They hurried up the stairs and into the aircraft. Zamora sat in a seat in the forward compartment and buckled himself in.

"Everything all right, Mister President?"

He looked up. A slender man with brown hair and a narrow face and dressed in a dark blue Air Force service uniform with master sergeant's chevrons stood before him. Zamora glanced at the man's nametag. It read R. EHRHOFF.

"I'm fine, Master Sergeant, thank you for asking." He gave Ehrhoff a knowing smile. Ehrhoff did likewise.

Zamora stared out the window as Air Force One taxied down the runway.

_Soon._

**XXXXX**

Colonel Ted Milner's heart pounded harder when he saw Gigan in the distance. His throat went dry as he checked left and right. A dozen other F-22 Raptors from his 94th Fighter Squadron flew around him. Farther to his right were the F-16s of the DC Air National Guard. To his left were F/A-18s from Marine Aircraft Group 31 out of Marine Corps Air Station Beaufort in South Carolina. Any other time, Milner would feel supremely confident with so many warplanes around him.

Against Gigan he felt insignificant.

Scratch that. With Gigan, he felt as though he was staring at his own death.

_You didn't sign up to run away when things got tough._

"Ringer Six to all flights," he radioed the other jets. "Tally on the bandit. Engage with AMRAAMS."

Within seconds numerous voices filtered through Milner's headsets reporting they had lock on the target.

He stared out the F-22's teardrop canopy. Gigan loomed larger as it flew toward the Chesapeake Bay. Nervous sweat streamed down his forehead and stung his eyes.

"Ringer Six, Fox Three."

Milner thumbed the fire button. Two AMRAAM radar-guided missiles fell away from the center weapons bay. Two contrails shot away from the F-22. He glanced around. More missiles streaked through the air, all headed toward Gigan.

"Break, break, break!"

Milner threw his F-22s into a hard left bank, flying away from the monster. The other jets in his squadron did likewise. He looked over his shoulder. The contrails merged into one enormous gray cloud. Orange flashes erupted within it as the missiles struck Gigan. Several pilots shouted, "Direct hit! Direct hit!"

Milner swung his F-22 around to see if the missiles had any effect on the monster.

Gigan blasted through the cloud. Red laser beams sliced through the air.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Milner yelled. "Evasive maneuvers!"

He banked left and put the F-22 into a dive. Other aircraft banked and twisted and dove. A fireball flashed to above Milner. Another one appeared to his right.

"Holy shit!" one pilot cried out.

Gigan barreled through the air armada. It smashed into three jets. A sweep of its right arm shattered an F-16.

"Pursue Gigan," ordered Milner. "Fire at will." _For what good it'll do. _

But they had to try. They couldn't just let Gigan smash Washington.

The squadrons formed up on Milner and pursued Gigan. The monster soared over town of Kettering and I-495. Further to the west, puffs of flame and smoke flashed along Route 295. M119 howitzers of the Virginia National Guard. A few shells exploded against Gigan. The majority fell on the suburban neighborhoods of Fairmont Heights. Milner felt an icy blade go through his stomach. He knew many people had fled Washington, DC and the surrounding area. He prayed that would mean fewer civilian casualties.

Gigan fired three beams from its eye. Gigantic balls of fire obliterated the howitzer battery.

The monster drew closer to Washington proper.

Missiles flew from several of the jets around him. Milner picked up a large heat signature around Gigan's head and launched two Sidewinders. Both heat-seeking missiles exploded on Gigan's neck.

It had no effect on the monster.

Gigan flew over the snaking shape of the Anacostia River and landed in Washington, right on RFK Stadium. Much of the venue crumbled.

Red beams shot from Gigan's eye. Pillars of flame and smoke rose from different parts of the city. More missiles streaked across the sky. Milner fired another Sidewinder before banking left. Fireballs burst up and down Gigan's massive body. It marched forward, firing its eye laser. Milner shuddered when he saw Union Station ripped apart by a gusher of fire. A trail of shattered houses stretched out behind Gigan as he advanced toward the heart of Washington.

Two F-16s dove on the monster, firing Sidewinders. Gigan swung its left arm and smashed both jets. The missiles exploded against its chest. Gigan ignored them and fired its laser. The Supreme Court building went up in flames.

Milner swung around his F-22. Two of his squadron mates followed. His electronic gun pipper settled over Gigan's head. Milner squeezed the trigger. A growl went through the cockpit as the fighter's cannon spat out a stream of 20mm slugs. The other two F-22s also fired their cannons. Sparks jumped off Gigan neck.

It turned toward them.

"Break right! Break right!"

Milner shoved the stick right. The F-22 went into a sharp turn. He picked up a flash of red out the corner of his eye.

"Ringer Twelve is down!" someone shouted over the radio. "Ringer Twelve is down!"

Milner bit his lower lip. Shit. That was Lieutenant Davenport. He'd been flying off his port wing during the strafing run.

_Poor guy proposed to his girlfriend only a month ago._

He swung around, just in time to see the dome of the Capitol Building blown apart. Gigan stomped through the burning remains and fired another beam. A massive fireball blotted out the Department of Justice Building. A second beam blasted the IRS building to nothingness.

Milner's eyes looked past the charred remains of the two buildings, past the firestorm raging through Washington. His muscles tightened as he stared at the White House.

Directly in Gigan's path.

_Not on my watch._

Milner put his F-22 into a dive and hit the arming switch for his GBU-39 small diameter bombs. Gigan continued to stomp down Pennsylvania Avenue. Buildings collapsed from his footfalls. Two F/A-18s launched a volley of rockets at the monster. Explosions sprouted all over Gigan's torso. It turned and fired a beam. One of the F/A-18s vanished in flash of orange and black.

"GBU-39s away."

Milner felt the F-22 rise as eight of the 250-pound bombs spilled out of the weapons bay. He made a tight turn to the left . . .

Just as one of Gigan's beams struck the White House.

"No!"

A ball of flame tore through eastern portion of the White House.

Anger burned through Milner. He glanced back as his string of bombs detonated around Gigan. The monster walked out of the maelstrom of fire and smoke unscathed.

Milner swung around, the F-22's nose pointed at Gigan. He wasn't going to stop until he'd run out of –

A red beam blasted apart Colonel Milner and his jet.

**XXXXX**

Master Sergeant Ehrhoff stood near the electronic countermeasures suite and glanced down at his watch. A half-hour had passed since Air Force One took off from Joint Base Andrews.

It was time.

"I'll be back," he said to the two Air Force personnel at their consoles.

They acknowledged Ehrhoff with nods as left the ECM suite. His face muscles tightened, trying to maintain a business-like appearance as he strode through the plane's blue carpeted floor. He had to hide any trace of the nervousness he felt, especially around the Secret Service. If they sensed anyone acting out of character, this whole operation could fall apart.

_I can't let that happen. I won't. There's too much riding on us._

He made his way past the dining room, then the staff and secretarial quarters. Since the Secret Service and Air Force had to get President Zamora out of Washington quickly, there had been no time to bring the staff. The compartment was empty.

Save for a lone Secret Service agent.

Ehrhoff maintained his rigid expression. He nodded to the agent. The agent nodded back. Inside, Ehrhoff relaxed a bit. There had been no sign of suspicion from the agent.

_Why should there be? _Ehrhoff had been part of the Air Force One crew for nearly a year. The other five in his cell had been here just as long or longer. They were familiar faces, all properly vetted beforehand. The Secret Service had no reason to view them as a threat.

He passed the press quarters, also deserted except for a Secret Service agent, and headed down the stairwell to the cargo hold. Another agent stood to the side of the door. Ehrhoff nodded to him. The agent nodded back. Again, the agent showed no hint of suspicion.

Ehrhoff maneuvered around some containers before coming to one marked TOILETRIES. Four other Air Force personnel stood around it.

"We're just waiting on Upshaw," said a short, thin airman named Leal.

Ehrhoff nodded and looked toward the entrance. Upshaw was assigned to the kitchen detail. She should be here any . . .

A stocky, brown-haired woman with staff sergeant chevrons entered the cargo hold and made a beeline toward Ehrhoff and his men.

"Are we ready?" Upshaw asked, the excitement in her voice evident. Like Ehrhoff, Upshaw was committed to protecting the planet. It was one of the reasons that drew them to President Zamora. Finally they had someone sitting in the Oval Office who believed in green energy.

Not that he could do much to advance his policies, what with so many congressmen in the pocket of oil companies and climate change deniers. As a result, those scum continued to pollute the planet, the polar ice caps kept melting and more species were pushed to the brink of extinction. Freedom and democracy were nothing but impediments to a cleaner, more habitable Earth.

Those impediments would soon be removed.

Ehrhoff turned to Leal and another airman, Cox. They crouched by the pallet, with Leal running a hand along it. He found the latch and flipped it. Both he and Cox pulled out the pallet's false bottom. Inside sat six compact Mac-10 machine pistols with suppressors, each one coming with four 30-round magazines filled with .45 ACP rounds. The false bottom also contained several flash/bang grenades.

_This is it. We're really going to do it. _Ehrhoff felt sweat pool under his armpits. He took a deep breath, trying to suppress his anxiety. All six of them had received secret training from a pair of former Marines committed to Zamora's vision of a country free of racism, divisiveness and selfishness. Their cause was just.

They would triumph.

After checking their weapons, Ehrhoff looked around at his cell and nodded. "Let's do this."

He led them through the cargo hold, arm down, the Mac-10 hidden behind him. He tried to keep his heart from racing.

Ehrhoff reached the open door. The Secret Service agent turned to him. As usual, the man wasn't suspicious in the least.

Ehrhoff's arm snapped up. He shoved the barrel under the agent's chin and pulled the trigger. A fountain of blood and brains burst from his skull and spattered the wall and ceiling. The agent crumpled to the floor. Between the suppressor and shoving the barrel into the agent's flesh, no one on the plane would have heard the shots.

"Let's go." Ehrhoff led the others up the steps, again keeping the Mac-10 behind his back. The Secret Service agent in the press quarters glanced at them. His brow furrowed, his gaze focused on Ehrhoff's half-visible arm. The agent stepped toward him.

Ehrhoff brought up the machine pistol. The agent raised his hand mike to his lips. Three rounds hit him in the chest before he uttered a word. He slammed into the wall and slid to the floor. Ehrhoff walked up to the agent and put two rounds in his head for good measure.

The door to the staff and secretarial quarters opened. A Secret Service agent stepped through.

"Ev-" His eyes widened and he went for his gun.

Leal and Upshaw fired their Mac-10s. Bloody holes exploded across the agent's torso. He twisted and fell to the floor. Another of Ehrhoff's cell, Mayes, threw one of the flash/bangs down the corridor.

"Grenade!" shouted the Secret Service agent near the entrance to the Protective Detail's quarters. "Grenade!"

Ehrhoff and his group all backed away from the open door. A split-second later two rounds cracked through the compartment. The six Air Force members covered their ears and opened their mouths.

A bass drum-like _thump_ rattled the plane. Ehrhoff yanked out a grenade. So did the rest of his group.

_The other agents should be pouring out their quarters now._

He stepped to the doorframe and tossed the flash/bang through without exposing himself. The others did likewise. Six explosions went off in rapid succession. The concussions barely subsided when Ehrhoff, Leal and Cox sprinted through the door.

Secret Service agents thrashed about on the floor or stomped around covering their ears and eyes. Ehrhoff, Leal and Cox fired short, deliberate bursts. Agents jerked and spun, then lay still in pools of blood.

Ehrhoff hurried around the bodies toward the stairs leading to President Zamora's office. Two agents would be near him as a last line of defense, probably right outside the door.

He took out a flash/bang grenade chucked it up the stairwell and through the hatch. Leal and Mayes threw more flash/bangs right behind it.

Pounding blasts shook the deck above them. Ehrhoff shoved a fresh clip into his Mac-10 and mounted the stairs.

Just as he guessed. Both agents had been outside the office. The flash/bangs put them on their knees, eyes shut, teeth bared in pain.

Ehrhoff shot them both in the head.

That was it. No more Secret Service agents on the plane. At 18,000 feet, there would be no reinforcements, no chance to spirit away The President to some secure location.

Ehrhoff opened the door and checked around the office. President Zamora, Chief of Staff Horton, and Secretaries Reese and Oliva all grimaced, no doubt from the concussive blasts of the flash/bangs.

"Is everyone all right?" asked Ehrhoff.

"We're fine," President Zamora responded. "Damn, those grenades are loud."

"And effective."

Zamora shook his head, as though clearing the cobwebs, and looked up at Ehrhoff. "Is it done?"

He smiled. "Mister President, I am happy to report that from this moment on, your personal safety is now entirely in the hands of CEMCOR."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	14. Chapter 14

It took some doing, but President Zamora managed to convince the pilots that there had been a security breach, but that Air Force One was now secure. It also helped that he hadn't used the duress code, "All is well." Then the pilots would have disregarded any orders that came from anyone aboard the plane.

Zamora sat in his office, watching Gigan smash Washington on the plasma screen monitor. Many of his Protective Detail that remained behind in the White House were surely dead, along with other agents at Secret Service Headquarters. Those who did survive could be dealt with later by CEMCOR.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Enter."

The door opened and Master Sergeant Ehrhoff entered. "Mister President. I just heard from Director Burleson. CEMCOR volunteers have moved on all Secret Service field offices across the country."

"Have they met any resistance?"

"In some places, like Texas, Nevada, North Carolina and Tennessee. I imagine there will be other offices that'll put up a fight, too."

Zamora nodded. That didn't come as a surprise. He knew from being around the Secret Service for eight years that they wouldn't relinquish their responsibility just on his say so. Their entire existence revolved around his security, to the point where they sometimes actually told him what he could and could not do and where he could or could not go. He found it aggravating that people who had just enough intelligence to look tough and pull a trigger could treat him like a five-year-old.

Well no more. His new CEMCOR bodyguards would treat him with the respect he deserved.

"Thank you, Master Sergeant," said Zamora. "Have you received any word on my new official residence?"

"No, Mister President, but I can check on it."

"Please do so."

"Yes, Sir." Ehrhoff nodded and left, closing the door.

Zamora smiled and turned back to the monitor. His new seat of power would be a mansion in Key Biscayne, not far from where he grew up in Miami. That the massive home already belonged to a star NBA player didn't matter. CEMCOR would remove him from the premises. No ordinary citizen should be allowed to make unseemly sums of money and live in such opulence. They had neither the intellect nor the level of responsibility to properly utilize that kind of wealth.

But President Horacio Zamora did.

"Mister President."

He turned to Secretary of the Air Force Oliva. "Yes?"

"I just received word from NORAD. Two MF-3 Excaliburs are about to enter Washington air space."

Zamora groaned. The damned 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron. Oliva had used the Air Force's massive bureaucracy to squeeze off their supplies. So how the hell did they manage to keep their jets flying?

_I'm going to have to find a way to deal with them, permanently. In the meantime . . ._

Zamora pulled out his special cell phone and started punching in numbers.

**XXXXX**

"Gigan's buggin' out," Yamagata said as he watched the monster soar higher into the sky. He raised the Excalibur's nose and followed, with Captain Ashby's jet right behind him. Both aircraft fired their particle beams. They missed.

Gigan climbed higher, its speed increasing. Before long the monster was just a small dark dot against the blue and white sky. Within seconds it vanished.

Yamagata grunted. No way would they catch Gigan now.

He leveled out and stared down at the firestorms sweeping through Washington, DC. Another city destroyed, this time the nation's capital.

_At least The President got away. _While Yamagata was no fan of Zamora, the last thing they needed was their Commander-in-Chief dead during this crisis.

The two Excaliburs wheeled around and headed west. They flew over the remains of Cincinnati and Indianapolis along the Ohio/Indiana border. Both jets refueled over Illinois. Yamagata found it curious that Gigan hadn't attacked Chicago yet, or St. Louis the next state over, or other big cities like New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Los Angeles, San Francisco and San Diego, especially San Diego, given all the military bases around that city.

_And why hasn't Gigan hit our base? _Whoever controlled that monster had to know the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron represented one of the biggest man-made threats to it.

After landing at Joint Base Richards-Gebaur, Yamagata went to his quarters, showered and put on a fresh MARPAT uniform. He typed out his after-action report – much shorter than usual since there hadn't been much action – and headed for the mess hall. As he approached the operations building, he saw the glass doors open and Nicole emerge.

"Nicole." He waved to her.

She stopped and stared at him.

"I'm headed to the mess hall," he said. "You have time to join me for a bite to eat?"

Yamagata slowed to a halt when he noticed Nicole's face. Her complexion was paler than usual, and radiated both shock and worry.

"What's wrong?" He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Nicole." Yamagata's concern grew.

"We found it," she muttered.

"Found what?"

"The control signal for Gigan."

Yamagata's eyes widened. "That's great." For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe they could finally stop all these attacks.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"We detected it coming from an airborne platform over Lake Erie." Nicole bit her lip and turned away.

"Why are you acting this way?" Yamagata gave her a perplexed look. "We finally have a lead on who or what is controlling Gigan. I would've thought you'd be happy about this."

"Jeff, we did some checking. There was only one aircraft in the area at the time we detected the signal. It was Air Force One."

Yamagata blinked, trying to process what Nicole had told him. "Air Force One? The President's plane?" He stared at her, mouth agape, struggling to come up with something else to say. What the hell could he say? He'd fully expected to hear the signal came from a flying saucer or some secret base in the mountains or under the sea. Not Air Force One.

"Are you sure?"

Nicole nodded. "My SIGINT team went over the information three times. There's no denying it. The signal came from Air Force One."

"But how could someone get a device like that on the plane? The Secret Service has to search everyone who comes on board."

"I'm sure they do," said Nicole. "But who's the one person the Secret Service never has to search?"

Yamagata drew a slow breath before answering. "The President."

He closed his eyes. He could scarcely comprehend it. Sure he had a number of issues with Zamora's policies, some of which he considered rather socialist in nature, but to seriously think the man would set loose one of the deadliest monsters mankind had ever encountered on his own country?

Yamagata thought of the martial law declaration, nationalizing the country's food supply, all the stories he'd heard from base personnel about abuses of power by CEMCOR volunteers.

Could it . . .

Then he thought of something else.

"Can you call up the electoral college map from the last election?" he asked Nicole.

She tapped on her iPad, then turned it so Yamagata could see it. The image showed the United States of America and its territories in a patchwork of red and blue; red for the states that went for President-elect Stanton, blue for the states that went for Vice President Pruitt.

"Now overlay it with a map of all the cities Gigan has attacked."

Nicole again tapped on her iPad. She gaped at the screen. "Oh my God."

Yamagata moved next to her so he could see the screen. "Just as I thought."

All the black circles that denoted Gigan attacks resided in red states. There was not a single one in any blue state.

That included Missouri, home of Joint Base Richards-Gebaur.

"I've been wondering about that," said Yamagata. "Why would whoever's controlling Gigan leave places like New York, LA, the Marine bases around San Diego, Joint Base Lewis-McCord in Washington or our base untouched? They're vital targets, but they're also in states that went for Zamora's man."

"So he's sparing the states that supported Pruitt and punishing the ones that didn't." Nicole shook her head. "Oh my God, we're starting to sound like the conspiracy nuts on the Internet."

"Except we have something they rarely have. Actual proof. You traced that signal to Air Force One. We have to let General Griffin know about this."

"I was just on my way over there, wondering the whole time if he was going to tell me I'm full of crap."

"If you want, I'm available for moral support."

Nicole smiled. "Thanks. I could probably use it."

They walked over to the admin building. When they reached Griffin's office, Nicole said to the receptionist, "I need to see General Griffin. It's urgent. I have new information regarding Gigan."

The receptionist nodded and picked up the phone. "General, Captain Fox and Major Yamagata are here to see you regarding information about Gigan. They say it's urgent . . . Yes, Sir." She hung up the phone and looked back at them. "You can go in."

They entered Griffin's office and saluted. Griffin, sitting behind his desk, saluted back.

"So, what do you two have concerning Gigan?"

Nicole looked to Yamagata. He flashed her a supportive smile. She straightened her shoulders and tapped on her iPad.

"Sir, my SIGINT people detected the control signal for Gigan and traced it back to its source."

"Excellent work, Captain. Do we know who's controlling that thing?"

Nicole paused. "Sir, I know this will be hard to accept, but we checked the information numerous times and it is accurate. The signal originated from Air Force One."

Griffin drew his head back, disbelief showing on his face. "That can't be right."

"We checked -"

"Check it again," Griffin interrupted Nicole.

"Sir, my people have checked the information three times. There is no doubt about it. The signal came from Air Force One. It means that in all likelihood -"

"I'm stopping you right there, Captain." Griffin held up a hand. "You cannot seriously believe The President of the United States, our commander-in-chief, is using Gigan to attack his own country."

"There is other evidence, Sir," said Yamagata. "Martial law, all of CEMCOR's reported abuses since The President deputized them, the fact that we're not getting any more supplies, even though we're the first line of defense against monster attacks. Then just look at the electoral college map. None of the states that supported Vice President Pruitt were attacked, but all the states that went for Stanton -"

"Major, what you are saying isn't only outrageous, it's slanderous. In fact, it's bordering on sedition."

"Then if it's not President Zamora," said Nicole, "it's someone else on Air Force One, possibly someone in his inner circle. But ask yourself this, who could actually smuggle a device that controls Gigan on that plane? It has to be The President."

"Captain!" Griffin bellowed. "You have no solid evidence that The President is behind this, just tidbits of circumstantial evidence you're connecting together, like all those conspiracy kooks do. Now go back to SIGINT and re-check your information until you find out where that signal really came from."

"Sir, I can re-check this information a hundred times and it will read the same. The signal came from Air Force One. You have to -"

"I do not have to do anything, Captain!"

"General." Yamagata stepped forward. "This is something you can't ignore. There is reason to believe President Zamora is -"

Griffin slammed a hand on his desk and shot to his feet. "Major Yamagata, Captain Fox, you are both relieved of duty, effective immediately!"

"What?" Nicole blurted.

Griffin picked up the phone and called his receptionist. "Dunlap. Get Security Forces in here ASAP."

"You're making a mistake, General," Yamagata declared.

"No, you two are the ones making a mistake. I can't believe you've been sucked in by all the crazies out there who think President Zamora is using this crisis to make himself a dictator. You know what's going on out there. How many cities have been destroyed? How many millions of people are dead and injured? Our transportation system is disrupted, supplies aren't getting through, relief agencies are stretched thin. What is The President supposed to do? Martial law is necessary to try and stabilize this situation. You may not like President Zamora, but as members of the United States Armed Forces, your personal and political beliefs are not allowed to have any bearing in the execution of your duties."

The door to Griffin's office opened. Two USAF Security Forces troopers entered in full battle gear.

"Is there a problem, General?" asked one of them, a stocky black man with senior airman chevrons.

"Airman. Take Major Yamagata and Captain Fox into custody. I'm charging them with insubordination and sedition. Confine them to their quarters and relive them of their phones, iPads and laptops. They are to have no contact with anyone on the outside."

The two SF troopers stared at one another in surprise, then looked back at General Griffin.

"Yes, Sir," replied the senior airman.

Both Yamagata and Nicole were patted down, then led out of the office.

"Ignoring this won't change the truth," said Yamagata.

"Get them the hell out of here!" Griffin hollered. "You're both a disgrace to your uniforms."

Anger burned white hot in Yamagata as the SF troopers walked them out of the admin building. He gave Nicole an apologetic look before they were split up.

Eyes narrowed, Yamagata was marched up to his BOQ. The SF trooper opened the door and directed him inside. Yamagata glared at the man. He didn't blame him for this mess. The guy was just following orders. But he needed some outlet for his anger, and the airman was a convenient target.

With a snort, Yamagata entered his BOQ. The SF trooper closed the door. Yamagata looked out the window to find his guard standing right outside.

Yamagata stepped back, arms folded. He looked off in the direction of the admin building, of General Griffin's office.

"That went well."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	15. Chapter 15

President Zamora shivered as he stepped out of Air Force One onto the boarding stairs. He surveyed the Burlington Air National Guard Base and the landscape around it. Much of it was covered with snow. Perhaps up to a foot or more in some places. He grimaced as the bitterly cold Vermont air penetrated his overcoat and sank into his bones.

_I should have ordered us to land some place warmer._

But the air base had been easily secured by his CEMCOR forces. He would have to make due here until his new headquarters in Miami was ready.

For someone who despised cold weather, it couldn't be ready quick enough.

He walked down the stairs, two of his new bodyguards, Upshaw and Cox, ahead of him. When he reached the bottom, a squat, middle-aged black man with a large belly stepped up to greet him. He wore a white-gray-black splotched urban camouflage Battle Dress Uniform, the standard uniform for CEMCOR security forces.

"Mister President." He stood at attention. "I'm Leo Hawkins, CEMCOR security commander for Burlington Air National Guard Base. It's an honor to have you here."

"Thank you, Mister Hawkins. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get inside. It's much too cold for a Miami boy like me."

"Of course, Mister President. This way."

Hawkins led Zamora across the tarmac to the white, rectangular-shaped terminal. The warmth washed over Zamora the moment he entered. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

_This is much better._

The President and his entourage strode across the terminal. He passed nearly two dozen security guards and other CEMCOR personnel in the corridors. Some smiled as he walked by them. Others looked like they were about to cry tears of joy.

_Why not? It is a joyous day._

Hawkins took Zamora to the office of the base commander. Former base commander, since the man was now detained by CEMCOR. A TV camera had been set up in front of the desk. Next to it stood a thin, tight-faced woman with short brown hair.

"Whitney Craft, Mister President." She extended her hand, which Zamora shook. "I'm a producer with the ABC affiliate here in Burlington. We'll be broadcasting your speech."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Craft."

Her face lit up. "I just want to congratulate you, Mister President, on what you've done. We finally have the country we've always wanted."

"We're close, Ms. Craft, but there's still much more work that needs to be done."

Zamora looked around the room. His face crinkled in agitation as he saw photos of jet fighters on the walls and all sorts of military books stuffed into book shelves.

He turned to Hawkins. "Get some people to remove all this military garbage from this office."

Hawkins smiled. "Yes, Mister President."

He left the office, returning a few minutes later with four CEMCOR personnel. They took the photos off the wall and threw the books into boxes and carried them away.

Now out of his overcoat, Zamora straightened out his suit and let one of Craft's assistants apply make-up on his face. They tested out the teleprompter. Zamora read over his speech twice before telling Craft he was ready. She phoned her studio, then said to him, "Broadcast in five minutes, Mister President."

Zamora sat up straighter. He forgot about the cold, miserable weather here in Vermont. He was about to take the final step in reshaping this country to the way it should be, they way he wanted it.

And no one would stop him.

Zamora kept his anxiousness in check and waited patiently until Craft counted down.

"In five, four, three, two . . ." She pointed a finger at him. The red light atop the camera came on. Words scrolled up on the teleprompter.

"Good afternoon, my fellow citizens. For weeks, this country has suffered terribly from the devastating attacks by the alien monster Gigan. Millions have died, millions more are homeless. Just a few hours ago, Gigan destroyed much of Washington, DC. Many of our nation's representatives and senators, and many officials and members of our departments and law enforcement agencies, perished in that carnage. But as you see, I am all right, and many of my closest advisors and cabinet members have also survived. This government continues to function, and we will continue to do everything possible to aid the victims of the Gigan and defend the country against future attack."

Zamora paused, concentrating on making his tone sound as grave as possible. "Unfortunately, Gigan is not the only threat we face. Members of the intelligence and law enforcement communities have brought to my attention a far-reaching conspiracy which intended to use this current crisis to overthrow my administration and assassinate President-elect Stanton. This conspiracy is made up of officials at the highest levels of our government and military, as well as governors, mayors, police chiefs and county sheriffs, leaders of many so-called patriotic organizations, church leaders, as well as many of their rank and file members and right wing talk show hosts and writers. It even extended to members of my Protective Detail, the very men and women charged with my ensuring my safety. Their goal was to set up an authoritarian regime, with the well-to-do as the ruling class and the poorest and most under-represented members of this society turned into a slave class. They intended to militarize our border with Mexico and shoot anyone who tried to cross it. They would have ignored the separation of church and state clause in the Constitution to establish a fundamentalist Christian society and outlaw all other religions."

Now Zamora injected a hint of relief in his tone. "Luckily, this conspiracy was discovered in time. But the threat to this government has forced me to take drastic action. First, I have relieved all members of the Secret Service Protective Detail of their duties. Those linked to this conspiracy have been arrested. From now on, my security and my family's security shall be the responsibility of CEMCOR.

"Second, because the conspiracy extends deep into many of our federal, state and local law enforcement agencies, CEMCOR shall be the lead agency in the investigation to root out these traitors to our country.

"Third, because of the dual threat of Gigan and this conspiracy, and because of the instability both have caused, I have consulted with President-elect Stanton, and we have both agreed that his inauguration ceremony will be postponed until both crises have been resolved. In the meantime, President-elect Stanton has been moved to a secure location.

"Fourth, regrettably, martial law will continue for the foreseeable future. No civilians, except those with special permission from CEMCOR, are allowed on the streets between seven at night to six in the morning. In addition, all gatherings of more than five people are not permitted, and anyone interfering with relief efforts or our defense efforts against Gigan will be subject to arrest."

Zamora leaned forward, staring directly at the camera. "These are trying times, my friends. While this country was under attack from an alien monster, selfish, power-hungry men and women sought to destroy America from within. But my government will not allow them to win. I will not allow them to turn this country in a place where they can oppress people who look and think different from them. We will prevail over them, and we will prevail over Gigan."

He put on a sympathetic smile. "Be strong, my friends. Thank you."

The camera's red light went off.

"And we're clear," announced Craft.

Zamora thanked her and her crew before leaving the office. He sucked in a breath, reveling in his new power.

His absolute power.

Air Force Secretary Oliva was waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

"Mister President." He held up his iPad. "You need to see this."

"What is it?" He stopped next to Oliva.

"My department flagged this a little while ago. It's a report from General Griffin of the First Joint Special Combat Squadron to Air Combat Command Headquarters at Langley Field."

Zamora read it over. His eyes widened. "They detected the control signal?"

Oliva nodded. "It would appear so."

Zamora looked back at the report. "I recognize Major Yamagata's name. He's the flight leader for the First Joint Special Combat Squadron. Who's Captain Nicole Fox?"

"She's in charge of the squadron's signals intelligence section. Apparently she's the one who picked up the signal from Air Force One."

"And they're both under arrest and incommunicado?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"How many personnel at Joint Base Richards-Gebaur are confirmed loyalists to my Administration?" asked Zamora.

"Only a handful," replied Oliva. "Also, the base is not very big. It will be near impossible to keep a secret within it. I've met many of the base personnel during my tours there, including Major Yamagata. He's a very respected and well-liked officer. I dare say many of the men and women at Joint Base Richards-Gebaur are likely to believe his story."

Zamora sighed, looked at the iPad, then back to Secretary Oliva. "Then I think it's time we deal with the First Joint Special Combat Squadron."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	16. Chapter 16

Yamagata did another set of 150 push-ups and 150 sit-ups. It wasn't like he had much else to do cooped up in his BOQ. The Security Forces had taken away his laptop, iPad, phones, TV, even his radio alarm clock. He tried reading some books, but every time he did his mind drifted back to the disastrous meeting with General Griffin. It pissed him off to think that the president of the very country he and his family had served since World War II likely created this crisis, and that Griffin refused to believe it.

Dinner consisted of an MRE dropped off by a Security Forces trooper. Veggie burger with barbecue sauce, one of Yamagata's least favorite Meals Ready to Eat. All the barbecue sauce in the world couldn't change the fact the burger patty tasted like old shoe leather. At least the packet of raspberry applesauce was okay. Even the military could screw up applesauce.

After dinner, Yamagata did more push-ups and sit-ups. Then he brooded for a while. Then he did more push-ups and sit-ups. Then he brooded some more, until he decided brooding accomplished nothing. He laid in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with a way to convince General Griffin of President Zamora's possible role in the Gigan attacks. After a while, he gave up. Griffin had been appointed CO of the 1st JSCS not on merit, but because he'd never done anything that might piss off a superior officer, all the while kissing their asses.

There were other senior officers he knew, ones that acted like leaders, who did not operate in Cover-Your-Ass, or CYA, mode 24/7. But would they believe him, and how could he get in touch with them?

Yamagata's eyelids grew heavy. He closed them all the way, ready to give in to sleep.

Someone knocked on his door.

His eyes snapped open. He got out of bed, walked over to the door and opened it.

A jolt of surprise went through him when he saw Master Sergeant Luis Hernandez standing before him. Just behind him stood someone in a heavy Airman Battle Uniform coat, a utility cap pulled down far enough to cover his, or her, eyes. Yamagata found it hard to tell the gender, since the person kept their head down.

"May we come in, Sir?" asked Hernandez.

Yamagata's brow furrowed in curiosity. "Sure."

He stepped aside to let the pair in. A Security Forces trooper stood just a few feet away from the BOQ, determinedly not looking at them.

The mystery person closed the door, then removed the utility cap to reveal a clear round face, glasses and short black hair.

"Nicole." Yamagata wrapped his arms around her. They kissed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Bored, but okay. You?"

"The same."

Yamagata kissed her again, longer this time. "What are you even doing here?"

"The Master Sergeant sprang me from my BOQ."

He turned to Hernandez. "How did you manage that?"

"It's easy when you're senior NCO of the Security Forces. I have some sway when it comes to switching around the duty roster and stacking it with men and women I can trust."

Yamagata smiled. "Thank you, Master Sergeant."

"We also thought you'd like this." Nicole pulled out a cell phone from her pocket. Yamagata's cell phone. "The Master Sergeant liberated it. You'd better check out the last message."

Yamagata accessed his voicemail. The last message he received came in about four hours ago.

From his grandfather.

He held the phone to his ear and listened.

"Jeff, it's your grandfather. I assume you heard The President's speech. He's using this as an excuse to round up anyone who opposes him. One of my neighbors and his wife were arrested by those CEMCOR thugs, just for being in a political group opposed to Zamora. A conservative talk show host in Spokane was arrested by CEMCOR in the middle of his show."

Grandpop paused. "I've been afraid of something like this happening since the day I drove by the high school and saw them turning it into an internment camp. I had to endure time in one of those, so did your grandmother and your great-grandparents. I'll not have your parents go through the same. That's why we're all leaving Pullman. We all voted for David Stanton in the last election. CEMCOR will come for us eventually. I won't tell you where we're going. The way things are right now who knows who could be listening to this call. But we'll be safe."

Another pause. "Jeff, when my family was in the internment camp during World War Two, we were not mistreated, beyond the fact we were denied our freedom. But the way things are now, I fear that may not be the case in these camps. I am going to tell you the same thing I told your sister when I called her. Do not let them take you. Fight them, fight them with everything you have. But do not let them put you in a camp.

"I have to go now. Take care of yourself, and know that I am proud of you. Good-bye."

Yamagata stared at his cell phone. A lump formed in his throat. Worry grew inside him. Would his family be all right? What he wouldn't give to be back in Washington State right now to help them.

Nicole reached out and rubbed his arm. He turned to her and managed a grin. Then he looked to Hernandez. "My grandfather mentioned a speech by The President. What was it about?"

"A bunch of bullshit about politicians, military leaders and some other people trying to stage a coup and turn the country into a dictatorship."

"Unlike what he's doing," commented Nicole.

Hernandez nodded. "Zamora's made CEMCOR into his own version of the Gestapo. They're in charge of not just national security, but his personal protection, too."

"What about the Secret Service?" asked Yamagata.

"He implicated them in this conspiracy and relieved them of duty."

Yamagata closed his eyes, taking in everything Hernandez had told him. He felt like he was living in a nightmare. How the hell could this have happened?

Even scarier was thinking about what was going to happen to his country in the future.

_Unless you do something about it._

"We have to let people know what's going on. We have to tell them that Zamora is likely the one controlling Gigan."

"The Master Sergeant downloaded all the data we collected from Air Force One onto a thumb drive," Nicole explained. Seconds later Hernandez pulled the thumb drive from his pocket.

"That's nice," said Yamagata. "But how do we get it to the outside world, and who do we give it to? The mainstream media is probably in Zamora's pocket, and any outlets he doesn't like will probably get shut down soon."

"That's okay, Sir. I've got an old friend who can help."

It took Yamagata a few seconds to realize who Hernandez was talking about. "The ex-Secret Service agent?"

"Yes, Sir. Roger Morton. He has all kinds of contacts. Plus he has inside knowledge about the Zamora Administration. He might know which of his secretaries and advisors actively helped him with the Gigan attacks. Also, Zamora has to have some scientists helping him out. There's no way he can build a monster control device himself. The President can't go anywhere without his Protective Detail, and every visitor to the White House is logged in. If anyone knows who all the players in this conspiracy might be, it's Morton."

"So where does he live?" asked Nicole.

"At the back of beyond. He built a little lakeside cabin in Nebraska."

"Where in Nebraska?" asked Yamagata.

"Near this flyspeck of a town called Arthur, about four hundred miles from here."

Nicole clapped her hands together. "I guess that means it's road trip time."

"Except you're forgetting one thing." Yamagata swept out his arm, pointing to the walls of his BOQ. "We're sort of under house arrest."

Nicole gave him a dismissive wave. "Details."

Yamagata grinned.

"Don't worry," said Hernandez. "Leave it to me to spring you two."

"You might want to think this through, Master Sergeant," Yamagata told him. "Just bringing Nicole here and giving me my cell phone is enough to get you in big trouble. If you help two prisoners escape, your career in the Air Force is done."

"With all due respect, Sir, when I joined the Air Force, I did it to defend this country, its Constitution and its principles. Then what happened? I stood by and watched a bunch of intolerant politically correct shitheads tell people what they can and can't say. I've seen our leaders tell us not to call Islamic terrorists Islamic terrorists because that might offend them. I've seen schools tell their students not to wear a shirt that has an American flag because that might offend certain people. You have high school and college teachers telling their students to hate this country, you have people who say disagreeing with a politician of another race makes you a racist. Now look where that's led us. We have a president who for all intents and purposes just declared himself a dictator and has his own version of the brown shirts to back him up. There's no way in hell I'm going to serve a dictator, so my future in the United States Air Force doesn't mean shit."

Yamagata nodded. "We all took an oath to defend the country from all enemies foreign and domestic. We've faced our fair share of foreign enemies. I guess now it's time to take on a domestic one."

"That suits me fine," said Nicole. "I'm not about to take orders from some pile of human garbage who used a monster to kill millions of his own people."

"All right, so how do we get out of here?" asked Yamagata.

"Unfortunately, it won't happen tonight," Hernandez explained. "I have to lay my hands on transportation, supplies, maps, weapons. I need to make sure there are guards in place we can trust. If all goes well, I can sneak you out of here tomorrow around twenty-three hundred hours."

Yamagata made a half-frown. He wished he and Nicole could break out tonight, but Hernandez was right. They needed to properly prepare for a 400 mile journey through what now had to be considered hostile territory. He had to stay here just one more day, in his tiny BOQ, staring at the same four bland cream colored walls.

He could handle it. He was a Marine.

"Okay, Master Sergeant. Do what you have to do. Nicole, pack some spare clothes and other stuff in a bag. I'm going to do the same. We need to be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

"You better hide that bag, too," Hernandez suggested. "Just in case you get a visit from General Griffin or one of his cronies."

"Good advice, Mas-"

Distant crackles interrupted Yamagata. He turned to the door. The crackles intensified. His muscles tensed. He immediately recognized the sound.

Gunfire.

An urgent voice burst from Hernandez's shoulder radio.

"Master Sergeant! Intruders have breeched the main gate! We're under attack!"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	17. Chapter 17

The door to Yamagata's BOQ flew open. The Security Forces trooper who'd been outside rushed in.

"Master Sergeant! We're under attack!"

"No shit, Grimsley." Hernandez turned to Yamagata and Nicole. "Change of plans. We're getting you two out of here now."

"Fine by me," said Yamagata.

Hernandez handed his Beretta M9 pistol and two magazines to Yamagata and had Grimsley do the same for Nicole. She stared at the pistol and grimaced. "I haven't fired one of these since Basic."

"Well it looks like you're going to get your chance to do it again," said Yamagata. "Just remember, this time you're firing at targets that can shoot back."

The color drained from Nicole's face. She took a breath and nodded, doing her best not to look scared.

Hernandez and Grimsley checked outside. The Master Sergeant looked back at them. "All clear. Let's move out."

Yamagata and Nicole followed the two SF troopers out of the BOQ. Cracks punctuated the air non-stop, like a string of firecrackers. All the gunfire came from the north, from the main gate just off State Route 150. Yamagata tried to listen for gunfire in other directions, but didn't pick up any. The enemy wasn't doing anything fancy. Just a full frontal assault.

The quartet dashed between a pair of BOQs and made for the rear of the L-shaped admin building. They slid along the wall toward the edge. Yamagata's heart thumped hard against his chest. He felt naked without his MF-3 Excalibur. There was no titanium/diamond hull to shield him from bullets. He had no freeze ray, particle beams or plasma-yield missiles to fight the enemy.

_Suck it up, Yamagata. Like they said in Boot Camp, "Every Marine is first and foremost a rifleman."_

Except he didn't have a rifle. Just a dinky piece of shit Beretta pistol.

Hernandez reached the edge of the building and peeked around it. Several long seconds passed before he called out, "Clear."

They hustled around the building. Dozens of base personnel ran across the spacious parking lot. Some with purpose, mainly the Security Forces troopers, others in a blind panic. These were people who worked at computer terminals, in offices, in maintenance hangars. Actual combat was as foreign to them as the average civilian.

Yamagata glanced back at Nicole. He prayed she came through this all right.

He prayed they all came through this all right.

They ran across the parking lot, avoiding fleeing squadron personnel. Some managed to get to the few cars in the lot and drove off at high speed. The gunfire grew louder. Explosions thumped in the distance. Yamagata watched a pair of fireballs rise into the night sky.

The enemy was getting closer, and he felt too exposed in the parking lot.

They cut diagonally across the lot, heading northwest, toward the motor pool, about 300 yards away.

Right now it felt like 300 miles.

"Vehicle approaching." Grimsley pointed north.

Yamagata saw headlights, then the silhouette of a pick-up truck. The vehicle barreled onto the parking lot. An orange strobe flickered from the top of its cab. Tracers flashed through the air. Several base personnel jerked and collapsed.

"Take cover!" Yamagata shouted.

The only cover he saw were two Air Force sedans 15 yards away. He grabbed Nicole's hand and pumped his legs. Hernandez and Grimsley ran all out.

Bullets cracked behind them and skipped off the asphalt.

Yamagata shoved Nicole in front of him and behind the nearest sedan. He dove for the ground. So did Hernandez and Grimsley. Bullets pounded the side of the car. Hernandez popped up from behind the hood and fired his M4. Yamagata crawled to the rear of the sedan. The pick-up raced across the parking lot, the machine gunner spraying the air with lead. More base personnel fell.

He planted his elbows on the asphalt, leveled his pistol and fired. He aimed for the cab, not knowing if any of his rounds struck home.

Sharp pops erupted next to him. He glanced to find Nicole firing her pistol.

_That's my girl._

Tracers zipped their way. Hernandez and Grimsley ducked as the rounds tore into the sedan. Yamagata saw the pick-up veer left, heading straight for them.

"Go for the tires!" Yamagata pulled the trigger until his Beretta clicked empty. He ejected the empty mag and inserted a new one. Nicole did the same.

They kept firing. The machine gunner opened up. The sedan shuddered as more rounds ripped through it.

Grimsley propped his elbows on the trunk and fired his M4. Hernandez blazed away from the hood. The pick-up closed to within thirty yards. Twenty yards.

The windshield exploded. A flash of orange came from the right front wheel well. The pick-up screeched as it fishtailed to the left. It flipped over. A man-shaped figure flew from the bed and slammed into the asphalt. The pick-up came down on its cab and rolled across the parking lot.

Right for their sedan.

"Move!" shouted Hernandez.

Yamagata grabbed Nicole by the back of the collar and yanked her off her feet. They just passed the hood when the pick-up crashed down on the sedan. Both he and Nicole dove for the ground. He rolled on his back and saw the pick-up come to rest upside-down, next to the pancaked sedan.

"Holy shit," Nicole stammered. "This is like Grand Theft Auto for real."

"Too bad there's not an RPG or an AK-47 around the corner we can pick up," said Yamagata.

They got up and found Hernandez checking over the other sedan. It, too, had been riddled with bullets. No way could they drive that.

"Let's go." The Master Sergeant slapped a fresh magazine into his M4 and led them across the parking lot. Muzzle flashes flickered nearby. Tracers criss-crossed the night as the Security Forces shot it out with the attackers.

They left the hard asphalt and ran over the cold hard dirt. A rectangular building lay fifty yards in front of them. Just behind it was the motor pool.

Yamagata ignored his burning lungs and tightening legs and ran for the building. Forty yards away. Thirty. Twenty. Ten.

"Enemy to the right!" Grimlsey shouted.

Yamagata threw himself to the ground, taking Nicole with him. Bullets cracked overhead. He spotted two muzzle flashes near the far end of the building. Grimsley fired, then gasped and stumbled. He fell on his back.

"Airman!" Nicole crawled over to him.

Yamagata brought up his pistol and fired. Hernandez opened up with his M4. Two human figures crumpled near the wall.

Rifle up, Hernandez advanced to check on them. Yamagata turned to Nicole, who lay next to the unmoving form of Airman Grimsley. She turned to him and shook her head.

Yamagata closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "Get his rifle and any extra magazines."

Nicole did as told. Yamagata led her over to Hernandez, who knelt beside the downed attackers.

"We got 'em both," he said. "And look what I found."

The Master Sergeant held up a black shoulder tab with gold letters.

CEMCOR.

The revelation didn't surprise Yamagata. It also erased whatever small amount of doubt remained that President Zamora used Gigan to create this crisis to set himself up as dictator.

He pocketed the tab and picked up one of the dead men's rifles, a German-made G3. Old, but no less effective. He plucked three spare magazines from the corpse and headed for the motor pool, feeling a little more confident.

Now he really was a rifleman.

They reached the nearest Humvee without incident. Yamagata slid into the driver's seat of the wide, boxy vehicle. Hernandez got into the passenger seat and Nicole sat in back. Yamagata hit the start button, then checked the fuel gauge. They had half-a-tank of gas.

"Here." Hernandez handed him a pair of night vision goggles. "No headlights. No sense in giving ourselves away."

Yamagata nodded and put on the NVGs. The world around him turned phosphorescent green. He pulled out of the space and took one of the southern roads.

"Avoid the gates," said Hernandez. "CEMCOR probably has them all covered."

"So how do we get out of here?" asked Nicole.

Yamagata looked at her in the rearview mirror. "We're just going to have to make our own gate."

He came to an intersection and turned right, toward the runway. He checked the treeline on his right. When it finally vanished, he jerked the wheel and took the Humvee off-road. The vehicle bounced along the uneven ground. The runway was just ahead, the lights alongside it blazing white in his NVGs.

"Jeff!" Nicole shouted.

"What?"

It was Hernandez who answered. "Right! Right!"

Yamagata looked. Headlights raced toward them.

He stamped on the gas and shot across the runway. A CEMCOR pick-up charged past, missing the trunk by scant feet. It skidded to the left, straightened out and roared after them.

Yamagata glanced at the speedometer. The needle climbed agonizingly slow. 40 mph. 50 mph. He checked the rearview mirror. The pick-up was still on his six, and closing.

_C'mon, c'mon!_ He willed the Humvee to go faster. Unfortunately, the vehicle had been built for durability and adaptability, not speed.

Muzzle flashes flickered atop the cab. Two bullets pinged off the Humvee. The pick-up grew larger in the rearview mirror. Yamagata gritted his teeth and stomped on the gas.

The pick-up slammed into the Humvee's rear. Yamagata, Hernandez and Nicole all jerked forward.

The gunner in the bed fired again. Two rounds pinged off the roof.

The fenceline appeared in front of them.

"Hold on!" Yamagata warned.

He didn't slow down. The Humvee smashed through the chainlink fence. It heaved to the left. Yamagata straightened it out. The Humvee bounced over one road, then another, then into a crop field.

The pick-up stayed with them. Another round struck the Humvee.

Yamagata gripped the steering wheel tighter. They weren't going to get out of this by running away. Why was he even running? He was a Marine. Marines didn't run.

Marines fought.

"Nicole, roll down the window on your left."

"What?"

He quickly explained his plan as the Humvee rolled over rows of dried out crops. Nicole looked both unsure and scared, but nodded and rolled down the window.

The pick-up hit their rear again.

Nicole looked over her M4, then gave him a thumbs up.

Yamagata glanced at the rearview mirror. The pick-up had backed off a little, then sped up, ready to ram them again.

He twisted the wheel right. Nicole stuck the barrel of the M4 out the open window. She fired one three-round burst after another as the pick-up sped past. The gunner in the bed went into spasms. The rifle flew out of his hands. He stumbled back and pitched over the side.

The pick-up slowed down.

Yamagata sped up. He jerked the wheel left. A crash of metal of metal filled the air. The pick-up tilted on two wheels, then came down on all fours.

A treeline appeared ahead of him. Yamagata's focus shifted between one small opening and the pick-up.

He slammed into the pick-up again. They separated. The pick-up tried to swerve into him. Yamagata rammed it in the side.

"Sir, we're coming up on trees," warned Hernandez.

Yamagata aimed for the opening. The pick-up sideswiped him. The Humvee got knocked several feet to the right. A clump of trees lay straight ahead.

"Sir." Hernandez pushed back in his seat.

"Jeff." Worry tinged Nicole's voice.

Yamagata crashed into the pick-up's side, pushing it further to the left.

The treeline filled the windshield.

"Sir!" yelled Hernandez.

"Jeff!" Nicole screamed.

Yamagata broke off at the last second. The Humvee shot through the narrow opening.

The pick-up rammed into a tree. Its hood transformed into a mangled V. Someone blasted through the windshield on the passenger side and banged off another tree.

The Humvee emerged on a farm. A barn sat twenty yards ahead of them. Yamagata made a hard right and barely avoided the structure. He backed off the gas and breathed again.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God." Nicole pressed a hand over her heart.

"Damn, I always knew you Marines were nuts . . . Sir," said Hernandez.

Yamagata nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment, Master Sergeant."

He backed off the gas pedal and turned onto a dirt road.

"So what now?" asked Nicole, her voice still a bit shaky.

"We're going to have to ditch the Humvee," Hernandez answered. "With all this damage it's going to stick out like a soar thumb. And who knows if CEMCOR's patrolling the highways or if they have sympathizers in the state police departments between here and Nebraska."

"We'll also have to change clothes," said Yamagata. "These fatigues make us stick out like a sore thumb, too."

Hernandez nodded. "Let's head Leawood. We can find another ride there and get some new clothes and other supplies, then make for Nebraska."

"Sounds like a plan, Master Sergeant."

Yamagata turned onto a country road that ran north. He'd try to stay off the main roads as much as possible. CEMCOR had to have patrols or observation posts set up at all the major routes into and out of Richards-Gebaur.

How far was it to Leawood? Probably about ten miles. He figured there was still fighting going on at the air base. That would be CEMCOR's first priority. If they prevailed, it would probably be hours before they realized the three of them were unaccounted for. That would give them a good head start to Nebraska and Hernandez's ex-Secret Service friend.

He approached a bend in the road. His thoughts turned to his friends still back at Richards-Gebaur. Was McGovern all right? What about Caputo? And Blade Sharpe? And Burner Ashby?

Yamagata eased the wheel right to take the bend. He hoped they all got out safely. Maybe they could –

Bright lights snapped on ahead of him.

"Shit!" He looked over his shoulder and threw the Humvee into reverse.

A pick-up charged out of the treeline, blocking him. Men poured out the back and rushed to the Humvee.

"Out! Get out of the vehicle!" one of the screamed.

The CEMCOR troopers swarmed around the Humvee.

"Out! Get out now!"

Yamagata kept his hands on the wheel. The engine still rumbled. He could stomp on the gas and run over these bastards. Grandpop's words echoed in his head.

"_Don't let them take you."_

"This is your last warning. Get out now!"

Yamagata tensed. He was not going to become another Yamagata chucked into a prison camp.

He looked in the rearview mirror, at Nicole in the back. She stared at the CEMCOR troopers with wide, fearful eyes.

Yamagata swallowed. Images of bullets tearing into Nicole's flesh, of blood covering her body, played in his mind. He shivered. How could he forgive himself if he let that happen?

He raised his hands. Hernandez and Nicole did likewise. Yamagata opened the door and slid out. Three troopers trained their rifles on him. One stepped forward.

"By order of Citizens Emergency Mobilization Corps, you are all under arrest."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	18. Chapter 18

Yamagata's chest tightened in fear as the CEMCOR troopers forced them on their knees. He looked at Nicole, expecting one of their captors to put a rifle barrel to her head and blow out her brains.

_Don't let them take you. _Again Grandpop's words echoed in his head. He should have floored it. He should have driven the Humvee through these SOBs. Maybe he would have gotten shot, but at least he'd have gone down fighting.

A CEMCOR trooper approached from behind. Yamagata tensed. He would not go down easy.

The trooper carried something yellow in his left hand. Plastic handcuffs.

Yamagata relaxed, just a bit. They wouldn't need handcuffs if they had intended to shoot them.

The trooper slipped the cuffs around his wrists and tightened them. Other CEMCOR troopers did the same to Nicole and Hernandez.

They were patted down, relieved of everything in their pockets, then yanked to their feet.

"In the truck." One trooper gestured toward the pick-up with his rifle.

Yamagata glared at him, then turned and walked to the truck. His eyes flickered in all directions, looking for any chance of escape.

Over a dozen CEMCOR troopers surrounded them, all armed with assault rifles. He was unarmed and cuffed. So were Nicole and Hernandez. There was no way any of them could escape.

_Bide your time._

Their CEMCOR guards forced them to sit in the rear of the bed cross-legged. Two guards knelt against the rear of the cab, clutching their rifles.

To Yamagata's surprise, they drove east, back to Joint Base Richards-Gebaur. The pick-up entered through the rear gate. Yamagata's jaw clenched as he looked around.

Groups of base personnel, all with their hands behind their backs, marched toward the parking lot of the admin building under CEMCOR guard. Other personnel were lined up in rows, kneeling on the asphalt, with more CEMCOR guards watching them.

Yamagata also saw many still forms on the ground. Some CEMCOR troopers, others US Armed Forces personnel.

There were far too many of the latter.

Just as they approached the parking lot, he noticed two CEMCOR troopers standing over a body. Something coming from the troopers reflected off the glow of a nearby lamppost.

It was urine. The troopers were pissing on the body. A member of the United States Armed Forces, and they pissed on it!

Yamagata felt his rage come to near eruption. He wanted to jump off the truck, break both men's necks, then maybe piss on them.

His damn handcuffs and the damn armed guards prevented him from doing that.

_Bide your time._

Yamagata still seethed when the pick-up stopped. He, Nicole and Hernandez were forced out and made to kneel beside more prisoners on the asphalt. Yamagata stared down the line. Three people down from him he spotted a familiar face.

"Burner?"

Lieutenant "Burner" Ashby turned to him. "Major? You okay?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

Before Ashby could respond, a harsh voice from behind shouted, "No talking!"

A heavy boot slammed into Yamagata's back. Pain tore through his insides. He grimaced and pitched forward.

"Jeff!" Nicole cried out.

"Shut up!"

The CEMCOR guard kicked Nicole in the back. She let out a strangled cry of pain and slumped to her side.

Yamagata pulled against his restraints. An animal-like growl bubbled in his throat. The sound of Nicole's cry stuck in his brain. It fed his boiling fury. All he could imagine was grabbing that guard and bashing his head into the asphalt, again and again, until his brains spilled out.

But he couldn't. He couldn't fight back, he couldn't defend the woman he loved.

Never in all his time as a Marine had Yamagata felt so helpless, so inadequate.

He knelt there, stewing, brooding, cursing CEMCOR, cursing Gigan, cursing President Zamora.

Cursing himself and his fellow servicemen and women for letting this happen.

Yamagata estimated an hour passed before a school bus rolled into the parking lot. CEMCOR marched one line of prisoners toward it.

"This is a mistake."

Yamagata turned to the source of the sound. He saw a stout figure near the open bus door, pleading with a guard.

"I'm loyal to this country. I'm loyal to The President. I have an exemplary record. I shouldn't be arrested."

Yamagata's eyes narrowed when he recognized the voice. General Griffin. His CO, groveling before his captors. A fresh surge of anger went through him. What the hell kind of general acted like that?

"Get on board," the guard ordered.

Head hung low, Griffin climbed the steps into the bus. Yamagata noted that the general hadn't been hit or kicked like him and Nicole.

The bus pulled out of the parking lot. About fifteen minutes later, another bus arrived. It stopped near Yamagata's line.

The guards shouted for them to get to their feet.

"Where are you taking us?" asked one airman.

He was answered with a rifle butt to the gut.

Yamagata checked around him. He counted at least twenty guards. The only cover was the admin building well over a hundred yards away. Plus he was handcuffed and unarmed.

Absolutely no chance for escape.

_Bide your time._

He entered the bus along with the other prisoners. Two guards were stationed up front, with two more in the back. All four carried Uzis. They directed the prisoners where to sit, making sure the first two seats and the last two seats in each row remained empty.

_Clever_, Yamagata thought. Anyone who entertained thoughts of rushing the guards would have to cross the mini no man's land, handcuffed. He eyed the Uzi held by one guard. The stubby submachine gun had been around since the 1950s, but was still an effective weapon. With a magazine of thirty-two 9mm rounds and a rate of fire of 600 rounds per minute, any uprising would end in a bloodbath.

Absolutely no chance for escape.

The engine revved with a grinding tone and the bus moved forward. Yamagata turned to the left. All the side windows had been covered with black paint. He looked forward. Even with the headlights on there wasn't much to see but the road.

He sat quietly, trying to count the seconds, the minutes, paying attention to every turn the bus made. Right on State Route 150. They didn't go far, maybe less than two miles, before turning left, definitely on US 71. From there they drove due north for at least eight or nine miles before bearing right. Did they turn on I-470, or I-435?

Since they kept going north, it had to be I-435. Was CEMCOR taking them to Kansas City? Maybe Independence? Somewhere beyond those cities?

Yamagata continued to concentrate. The bus rolled on for another ten miles or so before turning right, to the east. Probably toward Independence. The road curved north for a while, then straightened and continued east. A few minutes passed before the bus turned left, to the north, then made a right onto a curvy road. The bus slowed and came to a stop.

"Everybody out," ordered one of the guards.

Yamagata and the others shuffled off. He found himself in a parking lot. Nearly thirty guards patrolled it. Many wore CEMCOR fatigues, others looked like cops.

Collaborator cops.

The guards marched them to a series of inter-connected square and rectangular white buildings. A marquee above the main entrance read FORT OSAGE HIGH SCHOOL. On the roof right above the marquee sat a machine gun nest.

The prisoners entered the school, where they had their plastic handcuffs cut off. CEMCOR troopers and their heavily armed police allies guarded the hallways. Even with their hands unbound, Yamagata knew no one would try anything stupid.

_Bide your time._

More guards directed them to the gymnasium, for processing they said. Yamagata was the first to enter from his group. Several tables had been set up on the gym floor. Each one was manned by three CEMCOR people. One sat at a laptop, another stood off to one side with digital camera and a third stood off to the other side with an assault rifle.

"Proceed to that table," a guard ordered Yamagata, pointing to a table near the edge of the bleachers. "Answer all questions truthfully."

_Go suck a dog's dick,_ he thought, but didn't say.

Yamagata headed over to the table, taking his own sweet time. CEMCOR had a lot of prisoners to process and they likely wanted to do it as quickly as possible.

He had no desire to oblige them. Like they taught him in Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape, or SERE training, do anything possible to inconvenience the enemy. Making them wait a few seconds longer didn't seem like much, but right now it was his only way to resist.

Eventually, Yamagata made it to the table.

"Look up," said the female CEMCOR trooper holding the camera.

Yamagata lifted his head slowly. The woman snapped his picture.

"Name?" demanded the wiry, mustached man with brown skin sitting at the table. The nametag on his fatigues read TRUJILLO.

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps." He tacked on his social security number and date of birth.

Trujillo typed it into the computer. "What is your political affiliation?"

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

Trujillo looked up at him, eyes narrowed. "I already asked you your name. What is your political affiliation?"

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

Trujillo let out a slow, agitated breath. "Answer my question!"

"Under Article Five of The Code of the US Fighting Force, I've given you all the information I am required to as a prisoner of war."

"This is not a war. This is an operation to detain elements of society engaged in subversive activity against the lawful government of this country."

Yamagata stifled a laugh. _Talk about a canned response._

"What is your political affiliation?" Trujillo demanded.

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

"How many guns do you own?"

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

"What is your religious affiliation?"

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

"What are your primary sources of news?" Trujillo practically screeched.

"Jeffrey Yamagata, Major, United States Marine Corps."

Trujillo slammed his palms on the table. He shot to feet. "I've had it with your shit, you stupid slant!"

"Wow, I haven't heard that one before," Yamagata answered in a deadpan tone.

"Knock it off! You are going to answer my questions. You will answer them with real answers, or you will be sorry."

Trujillo leaned over the table, his eyes burning with rage. "Now, what is your political affiliation?"

"My political affiliation is -"

Yamagata head-butted Trujillo.

"None of your damn business."

Trujillo cried out in pain. He doubled over and covered his nose. Blood seeped through his fingers.

Yamagata grinned.

The CEMCOR guard rushed around the table. Yamagata braced himself a second before a rifle butt rammed into his back.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	19. Chapter 19

Two days.

That's how long Yamagata had been in solitary, or rather, the janitor's closet CEMCOR designated for solitary confinement. At least he assumed it to be two days. The guards had taken his watch, but they'd fed him six meals since they threw him in here. The meals hadn't been much. A couple slices of bread and a bottled water. It did nothing to satisfy his hunger.

My God, he was hungry.

A single light bulb lit the small room, devoid of any items except a wastepaper can he used as a toilet. After two days, the room reeked of piss and shit.

Plus his ribs still ached where that CEMCOR asshole hit him with the rifle. Yamagata figured he had a couple of bruised ribs. Broken ones would have hurt a hell of a lot more.

He tried to keep his mind occupied to pass the time, to forget about his hunger, to block out the stench of human waste. He recited the Code of the US Fighting Force, especially Article Three.

"'If I am captured, I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.'"

He recited the Marine Corps Rifleman's Creed.

"'This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my rifle is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless.'"

He even sang the Marine Corps hymn.

"'From the Halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli. We will fight our country's battles, in the air, on land and sea.'"

Yamagata could only keep it up for so long before his mind strayed to other places. Was his family all right? Was Nicole all right? How were the rest of his squadronmates faring? What about the rest of country? Were President Zamora and CEMCOR in complete control?

Had Gigan attacked any more cities? Attacked them while he was stuck in a damn closet doing nothing to stop it?

His grandfather's words came back to him. _Don't let them take you._

He hung his head and shut his eyes. "Sorry, Grandpop. I let you down."

He'd become another Yamagata thrown into a prison camp. Another Yamagata whose unwavering loyalty to this country hadn't spared him from incarceration. For his grandfather and great-grandparents it was simply because they were Japanese living in America during World War II. For him it was . . . what? The more he thought about it, the more he figured it had to do with Nicole discovering the control signal coming from Air Force One. General Griffin had to file a report about why he had to relieve him and Nicole from duty. Maybe Zamora felt the 1st JSCS a threat to his regime.

A threat that was now removed.

_Not as long as I'm breathing._

He did everything he could to feed that hope, the hope he and his brothers and sisters-in-arms would break out of here and defeat Gigan, Zamora and his dictatorial rule.

He was a Marine. He'd taken an oath to protect his country from all enemies foreign and domestic. He would fulfill that oath, even if it cost him his life.

The door swung open. Three CEMCOR guards stood in the hallway.

"Punishment's over," said the one at the forefront, a small but muscular man. "Get up."

Yamagata rose and stepped out into the hallway. He noticed two of the guards carried collapsible batons, or asps. He might be able to disarm one of them and take the baton, but then what? A thin little club wouldn't do much against other guards with pistols and rifles.

_Bide your time._

"Now you learned your lesson, right?" the lead guard asked with a wicked smile. "You're not gonna give up any more trouble, are you?"

Yamagata let his right arm rest against his leg. He slid his middle finger over his index finger, then muttered, "No."

"Good. Now follow us."

Yamagata smiled inwardly. He'd crossed his fingers. His answer didn't count.

"_I will continue to resist by all means available."_

The guards led him outside. The air was chilly, but fresh. No stench of piss and shit. The sky was overcast, but he noticed the faint glow of the sun behind one cloud to the east. Not too high in the sky. It was probably mid-morning.

They walked past a utility building toward the football field. All the while Yamagata's eyes swept the area. A chainlink fence topped with coiled concertina wire ran along the school's perimeter. Two guards manned the entrance to the parking lot, while a couple of others walked the fenceline. He spotted machine gun nests above the main entrance to the high school and atop the press box of the football field. A few trees stood just beyond the end zone on the north end of the field. They would have made great cover at any time of the year. In winter time, however, they were devoid of leaves.

The most prominent feature had to be the enormous white tent. It took up more than half the football field and reminded Yamagata of the sort of tents that hosted religious revivals.

He doubted a revival was going on in there right now.

"Welcome to your new home," the guard leader grinned and pointed to the tent flap.

Yamagata said nothing and went inside. There had to be well over a hundred people before him, all wearing orange prison jumpsuits. Rows of heavy, dark blankets lay on the ground, with plastic buckets beside them.

He took a few steps forward before someone called out, "Ninja!"

A man hurried through the crowd. Yamagata's eyes widened when he recognized him.

"Gov!" The two exchanged handshakes and backslaps. "Man, am I glad to see you."

"Likewise. I thought CEMCOR was going to put you in time out forever after what you did to that dickhead in the gym."

"There were times when it felt like forever. Is there anyone else from the squadron here?"

"Yeah. Follow me."

Yamagata followed McGovern to the middle of the tent. His spirits lifted for the first time in days. Caputo and Hernandez sat on the ground, along with Ashby, his WSO Lieutenant Scott "Sockman" Pena and his sensor specialist Sergeant Fred Dillard. He also saw "Blade" Sharpe and his sensor specialist, Sergeant Craig Essian, among the group, but not . . .

"Where's Menace?" Yamagata looked around for Lieutenant Dennis Anderson, Blade's WSO.

Blade lowered his head. His shoulders slumped. Yamagata felt his entire body tense.

"He didn't make it," Blade said in a flat tone. "CEMCOR bastards gunned him down."

Yamagata knelt in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Blade. He was a damn good man."

"That he was."

Yamagata took a minute to gather himself. "Where's Nicole?"

"She's okay," McGovern replied. "They have the women in a tent on the practice field next door."

_Thank God. _"What about General Griffin?"

Ashby shook his head. "No one's seen him since we left Dicky-Goober." He used the nickname for Joint Base Richards-Gebaur.

Blade looked up. "Maybe I'm out of line for saying this, but . . ."

"Speak your mind, Lieutenant," said Yamagata.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he was spilling his guts to CEMCOR. You saw how he was pleading with them before he got on the bus."

Yamagata folded his arms, face scrunched in thought. He may not have thought very highly of Griffin, but the man was still a general in the US Air Force. He wouldn't just start blathering at the first hint of intimidation.

Then he thought of Griffin's CYA mentality, his desire to please those above him, and as Blade said, the way he tried to spare himself, but not anyone under his command.

The more he thought about it, the more Blade's allegation didn't surprise him.

"If General Griffin isn't here, the responsibility falls to you, Major," said Hernandez. "You're the highest ranking officer among the POWs. You're in charge."

Yamagata nodded. "Okay. Our first priority, no surprise, is bustin' out of here. You can consider yourselves all part of the escape committee."

"We're way ahead of you, Ninja," McGovern told him. "We formed it about five minutes after we got moved in here."

"Good. So I can assume you've been gathering intel on our new digs."

"You bet, Sir," replied Hernandez. "Security is pretty rudimentary. A fence with concertina wire, M-60 machine guns on the press box and the roof of the school, guards around the perimeter, guards walking around the athletic fields. The latter only carry batons and pepperspray. The last thing they want is a POW getting their hands on a rifle."

"That is pretty rudimentary," Yamagata noted. "But still effective. Any deficiencies?"

"Lots," Hernandez answered. "First off, most of these CEMCOR pricks come from the civilian jobs. They probably never had the sort of intensive training that an actual prison guard or MP would. So we're not dealing with professionals. Second, this is a school they converted into a prison camp, and from the looks of it they did it in a hurry. There are bound to be weak spots. We've been surveilling the patrol patterns of the guards, their shift changes, how they behave the longer their shift lasts."

"How many guards do they have here?"

"Best we can tell, around fifty guards per shift, in eight-hour shifts. I also estimate maybe sixty to eighty support staff; cooks, motor pool, supply, those sort of people. But it looks like they're unarmed, so we won't have to worry about them too much."

Yamagata stared at the ground, processing the information Hernandez had given him. About a minute passed before he looked up. "We're going to have to move fast to get out of here. You gotta figure it's only a matter of time before CEMCOR tightens up security around here, especially if the cops working with them give them some advice. When we do get out of here, we get our Excaliburs, and we get back in the fight."

"That's assuming they're still in one piece," said Blade. "We know Zamora hates the military. How do we know he didn't order CEMCOR to blow up our planes?"

"Zamora may hate the military, but he still needs a lot of firepower to combat any resistance groups that spring up, and trust me, there will be resistance groups out there. The Excaliburs are the most advanced aircraft in the US inventory. He'll need them to help maintain his power."

McGovern scoffed. "What, Gigan isn't enough for that?"

"Gigan was good for destroying cities and creating a crisis," Yamagata pointed out. "But Zamora still needs boots on the ground and pilots in the air to enforce his rule."

"Still," Hernandez said. "We take out Gigan, that'll make Zamora and CEMCOR easier to beat."

"Which is why we need to get our Excaliburs. With Godzilla out of the picture, they're the only weapons we have that have a shot at stopping Gigan."

"Godzilla might still be alive," Ashby said in a hopeful tone. "I mean, he's always been tough to kill."

"True." Yamagata nodded. "But even if Godzilla is alive, he's buried under thousands of tons of ice, and he was badly injured by Gigan. Who knows how long it'll take him to heal and dig out? We can't wait that long."

He slapped his legs and stood up. The others also got up. "All right, people. From here on out, the only thing on our minds is escape. Keep doing what you've been doing the last couple of days. Observe everything about this camp. The guards, the staff, the security set-up. File it away up here," Yamagata pointed to his head, "and report back. I don't care how insignificant it is. We'll gather each night after dinner to go over all the intel we've gathered for the day, and I want everyone to come up with at least one escape plan to present to the group. Then we'll see which one is the best and start refining it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," they all replied.

"Also, be sure to exercise at least and hour a day and get as much sleep as possible," Hernandez added. "Also eat everything CEMCOR gives you. We all need to be in the best shape possible when the time comes to bust out of here."

"Good advice, Master Sergeant," said Yamagata. "That's exactly what we're going to do. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the rest answered.

"All right. Dismissed."

The group broke up.

"I'll show you where you're sleeping, Ninja." McGovern led Yamagata down the row of blankets. "Don't expect a mint under the pillow. Hell, don't even expect a pillow."

McGovern pointed to a blanket that looked like it came from Army surplus from the 1950s. Yamagata groaned, then picked up the bucket next to the blanket. It contained a comb and a small water bottle.

"Wow, they spared no expense, huh?"

"Most of the buckets have a lot more stuff," said McGovern. "Toothbrushes, soap, shaving cream and disposable razors, even some fruit snack packages. But if you don't behave, you don't get as much."

Yamagata removed the comb and water bottle from the bucket, and noticed a laminated message at the bottom.

WHAT WE GIVE YOU, WE CAN ALSO TAKE AWAY. OBEY ALL CEMCOR ORDERS.

Yamagata scowled and turned to McGovern. "Here's another reason we need to break out ASAP."

"What?"

"The customer service here sucks."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	20. Chapter 20

Over the next two days, Yamagata saw that Hernandez's theory on the CEMCOR guards was correct. Whatever training they had as prison guards had been minimal. They sauntered around Fort Osage High School, many slapping their asps against their palms. It seemed they thought all they had to do was look tough and that would keep the prisoners in line.

They could afford to act like that with an M-60 machine gun crew on top of the press box.

The CEMCOR guards also failed to police the football field before turning it into a prison camp. During the two hours a day the prisoners were allowed outside, Yamagata and other members of the 1st JSCS meandered around the row of stones that ran alongside the running track. They pretended to fix the Velcro straps of their prison shoes, while surreptitiously picking up some of the stones. The guards barely paid them any attention. They probably couldn't imagine anyone being a threat with a thumb-sized stone.

Yamagata could.

They also found other things among the stones. Broken glass, a pen and a squeeze tube of blue and silver glitter.

Today they hit pay dirt.

"Check it out." "Blade" Sharpe lifted the tunic of his prison uniform. Stuck in his waistband was a cigarette lighter.

"Great," said McGovern. "Now all we need are some sticks of dynamite and were in business."

"What this gives us is a distraction." Yamagata looked around at the members of the "escape committee," who sat in a loose circle near his blanket/bed. "We set something on fire, that's going to cause a lot of confusion and give us a chance to slip away."

"But we still have to get over the fence," Ashby pointed out. "Those MGs will cut us down before we even reach it."

"If those machine gun crews have the same level of training as the guards, all their attention will be focused on the fire," said Hernandez. "Just like any other civilian's would."

"Then what?" asked Caputo. "We run up the stands to get them. Fire or not, they'll see us and mow us down."

Hernandez's face scrunched in thought. Several seconds passed before he spoke. "The scaffolding under the grandstands. I can climb it and take them from behind. It'd be just like some of the obstacle courses I went through in combat training."

"That machine gun nest has two men in it," Yamagata told him. "You're going to need another man with you."

"I can do it, Sir." Lieutenant Pena, Ashby's WSO, raised his hand. "I do rock climbing walls every chance I get."

Yamagata nodded. "Okay. Since you got the tough job, you take the pen and a shard of glass with you. Those are the best weapons we have."

"That's not really saying much," McGovern quipped.

"We make do with what we have."

"So when do we bust out of here?" asked Caputo.

"The sooner the better," answered Yamagata. "Tomorrow night."

**XXXXX**

The guards shouted for everyone to wake up at 0600, as they did every morning. They led the prisoners to the locker rooms in the gymnasium, where they washed up. Next they were marched to the cafeteria for breakfast. Yamagata went down the serving line looking at his tray. Two slices of bread, a bowl of corn flakes, jello and some apple slices. Not his ideal breakfast, but at least CEMCOR wasn't trying to starve them to death.

One of the cooks, a rotund black man in his late thirties, plopped some rice on his plate.

"Here your lice," he said in a sing-song Asian accent. "Enjoy lice. Chung-ching-chung-ching-chung-ching."

Yamagata glared at the cook. He wanted to tell him to go screw himself. He wanted to put his fist through his fat, ugly face.

He did neither. He'd ordered the escape committee to not say or do anything to piss off the guards. The last thing they needed was anyone to be thrown into solitary the night of the escape.

Yamagata wasn't about to violate his own order.

He kept his face neutral and continued down the serving line. The cook chuckled, "Me like lice. Me like lice."

_Who says the right wing has the monopoly on racism?_

Yamagata grabbed a juice box and picked a table to sit at.

Nicole joined him five minutes later.

He couldn't keep the smile off his face. Meals were the only times he got to see his girlfriend. He wanted to reach across and hold her hand. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than hold her hand. Unfortunately, the guards didn't allow any physical contact between prisoners at meal times in case they slipped each other something.

The CEMCOR guards weren't completely stupid.

"How are you holding up?" Nicole asked.

"As well as can be. You?"

"Fine." She stared down at her tray without touching any of the food.

"What's wrong? I mean, other than being locked up in here."

That got him the briefest of smiles from Nicole. She looked up at him. "I don't like the way some of these guards are looking at me, or the other female prisoners. I think it's only a matter of time before . . ." She swallowed, unable to finish the sentence.

Yamagata tensed. Disturbing images filled his head, involving Nicole and a bunch of faceless CEMCOR guards.

And him being unable to do anything about it.

He gripped his plastic spoon tight, wishing it was the throat of a guard. He'd been dreading something like this. Give people power over others whose philosophies or professions they despised and it was only a matter of time before they abused that power. It hadn't happened yet to the female prisoners, but from what Nicole said, it would soon.

Maybe very soon.

"Tonight," Yamagata mouthed.

Nicole's eyes widened. She then nodded.

He scooped up a spoonful of corn flakes and held them up near the right side of his mouth. He scratched a non-existent itch on his left temple, doing his best to shield his mouth from any guards who might be looking his way. "Sunset. Fire. To the parking lot," he said in barely a whisper.

Nicole flashed him a smile. She understood.

Yamagata just hoped none of the guards did anything to her, or the other female prisoners, before then.

After breakfast they turned in their empty trays and plates to the guards, who also counted the utensils. A shame, really. Even though they were plastic, they still would have made halfway decent weapons.

Which the CEMCOR guards obviously considered, too.

Again, they weren't completely stupid.

The male and female prisoners were marched back to their respective tents. A couple of local police officers assisted the CEMCOR guards. Yamagata noticed the number of cops at the school-turned-prison camp had gone down. Maybe they were needed to keep order in their respective cities. Maybe some decided they couldn't stomach serving a dictator like Zamora and quit. He hoped it was more the latter than the former.

When they returned to the tent, Caputo went up to him. "Sir, can I ask something?"

"Ask away, Sergeant."

"When I was looking at those cops bringing us back, it got me thinking. I have no problem taking out these CEMCOR thugs, but cops? If it comes down to us against them, what do we do?"

Yamagata let out a slow breath. It was a dilemma that weighed heavily on his mind. Cops, like the Armed Forces, protected people. But now . . .

"I'd like to avoid any confrontations with them, or our fellow servicemen and women, if at all possible. But if it comes down to it, we do what we're trained to do. Kill the enemy."

"Shit, Sir," muttered McGovern.

"We are, for all intents and purposes, fighting a civil war. It's time for people to choose sides. You either serve Zamora, or you fight against him. There is no middle ground. If any police officer, federal agent, soldier, sailor, airman or Marine does anything to support President Zamora's rule, that makes them an enemy. I don't like that thought any more than you, but that's the reality we have to accept if we want to win. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

"A problem, yes," said McGovern. "A lot of problems, actually. I didn't join the Air Force to kill cops and our brothers and sisters-in-arms."

Yamagata opened his mouth, but McGovern continued. "But you're right. It's something we have to do. I won't like it, but given what's at stake, I'll do it."

The rest of the escape committee also agreed. Not enthusiastically, but they agreed. Yamagata would have worried if any of them had been enthused about shooting police and members of the Armed Forces.

Such was life fighting a civil war. You ended up shooting people you ought to be working with.

**XXXXX**

Yamagata spent the rest of the morning exercising, and thinking. There was a lot to think about. What if they couldn't secure the machine gun? What if Nicole didn't get to the parking lot? What if they didn't make it beyond the fence?

Even if they did escape, that was just the beginning. They somehow had to secure their MF-3 Excaliburs, then somehow had to take out Gigan, then somehow had to defeat President Zamora and CEMCOR.

_If I wanted an easy job, I'd be washing cars for a living._

At noon the guards marched them to the cafeteria for lunch. Turkey and cheese sandwich, no mustard or mayonnaise – _CEMCOR bastards – _fruit cup, more jello, and rice.

"You eat lice," chortled the fat cook. "Lice good for you."

Again, Yamagata didn't say a word to him.

_I really hate that guy._

When he and the other prisoners returned to the tent, they all had a gift waiting for them. A paperback with a photo of President Zamora on the cover lay on everyone's blanket.

MY VISION OF AMERICA by Horatio Zamora.

Yamagata glowered at it. This was the book Zamora wrote before his election. From the snippets he'd heard and read, it was simply 300 some pages of leftist, socialist, anti-American bullcrap, there for all the world to see.

Still a majority of the American people elected that asshole. Twice!

_And boy are we paying for it now._

Yamagata picked up the book and opened it. A note appeared inside.

_All prisoners are required to read this book and adhere to the beliefs of our great leader, President Horatio Zamora._

Yamagata groaned and turned to McGovern. "It's a good thing we're breaking out of here tonight. I'd rather read my old high school geometry book than this piece of shit."

**XXXXX**

The escape committee spent the rest of the afternoon going over their plan and refining it. At five o'clock the guards escorted them to the cafeteria for dinner. A watery stew with potatoes and carrots, two slices of bread, more jello and more rice. Thankfully, the fat chef wasn't there to make his racist cracks.

Yamagata and the rest of the escape committee ate every single morsel of food in front of them. They'd need all their strength for tonight.

They returned to the tent. Yamagata's heartbeat picked up as it grew darker outside. He closed his eyes and took steady breaths.

_This is a good plan. It'll work._

_It has to work._

When the sun completely vanished, Yamagata had Sergeant Dillard, Ashby's sensor specialist, wander to the far end of the tent. A couple of minutes passed before he saw an orange flicker. Dillard's silhouette turned and strode back to Yamagata. The flicker grew and grew.

Shouts of, "Fire!" rang out through the tent.

"Everyone out!" Yamagata waved to the exit. "Evacuate! Evacuate!"

Dozens of men dashed through the tent flap. Yamagata and the escape committee picked up their blankets, wrapped them around themselves and ran outside. They made it to the ten yard line when eight guards appeared in front of the mass of prisoners. All of them had asps in one hand and pepperspray in the other.

"Get back in your tent!" shouted the head guard, a large man who looked like he may have been a college football lineman once upon a time. "Get back inside now!"

"Screw you, man!" said one prisoner. "The tent's on fire."

The head guard looked past the prisoners as more CEMCOR goons pounded across the field. Flames rose from the rear of the tent.

"Shit!" The head guard just stared at the burning tent. He gave no orders, made no move to do anything. The other guards also turned their attention to the fire. This was when the lack of proper training reared its ugly head. It was easy to look tough and think you were intimidating the prisoners. But when something unexpected popped up, you froze.

Just what Yamagata hoped for.

He glanced around. Two shadowy figures raced toward the grandstands. Hernandez and Pena. No tracers streaked from the machine gun nest. The CEMCOR volunteers in it must also be completely absorbed by the fire.

"Um, someone get a fire extinguishers," the head guard finally spoke. "Get a lot of them. And a hose."

A few guards ran off. Others stayed, their asps and pepperspray at the ready.

Yamagata looked back at the tent. Flames engulfed most of the canvass and rid the night air of its wintry chill. In fact, sweat had broken out on his forehead.

CEMCOR volunteers ran onto the field with fire extinguishers. They stood back and sprayed foam at the burning tent. Much of it fell on the ground. Yamagata doubted they would risk getting any closer.

Yamagata turned back to the head guard. His eyes flickered between the prisoners and the machine gun nest atop the press box. So long as they had that M-60 backing them up, the CEMCOR guards would feel confident.

Yamagata let another minute pass, imagining Hernandez's and Pena's progress up the grandstands.

"Hey. Where are these men going to sleep?" He stepped toward the guards.

"Get back!" The head guard pointed his asp at him.

"As the ranking POW officer it is my responsibility to make sure the needs of these men are met." Yamagata took a couple more steps toward the head guard. "It's cold and these men need another place to sleep."

"Get back!" The head guard shook his asp.

"Not until I have an assurance that we will have a new tent to sleep in." Yamagata took another step forward. "Not two days from now, not a week from now. Tonight."

Several prisoners blurted, "Yeah."

"You want us to freeze to death," added one prisoner.

Yamagata took another step. He was about eight feet from the head guard.

"I'm not gonna tell you again, asshole! Get back!"

Yamagata took two steps toward him. "The Geneva Convention requires you to -"

"That's it, you dumb slant."

The head guard raised his asp.

A deep chugging sound cut through the air. All heads turned toward the press box.

Tracers blazed across the night sky . . . toward the machine gun nest atop the school entrance.

Yamagata smiled. The breakout had begun.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	21. Chapter 21

"Now!"

Yamagata yanked the blanket off his shoulders and flung it at the head guard. It shrouded his head and shoulders. He cried out and tried to rip it off.

Yamagata spun on his heel and launched a sidekick into the head guard's stomach. He stumbled back. All around him other prisoners threw their blankets over guards' heads and rushed them.

Another kick from Yamagata sent the head guard stumbling further back. The blanket slipped off him.

He also dropped his asp.

Yamagata dove for the collapsible baton. He grabbed it and turned to the head guard.

A fist exploded against his jaw.

Yamagata grunted and dropped to his side. Stars blazed across his vision. They faded when a boot struck him in the gut.

"Son of a bitch!" The head guard reared his foot back for another kick.

Yamagata clenched his teeth, fighting through the pain. He watched the bigger man's foot and waited.

The head guard kicked. Yamagata hooked him under the calf with the crook of his elbow and pushed up. The head guard toppled and fell on his back.

Yamagata searched for the baton. He couldn't find it. He dug into his right sock for his hidden weapon and crawled toward the head guard. Yamagata popped open the tube of glitter and held it over the head guard's face.

The bigger man sat up. His hand shot out and wrapped around Yamagata's right wrist. He gritted his teeth as the head guard squeezed harder. Then the guard's left arm reached for his throat. Yamagata grabbed his wrist. The head guard pushed harder. The muscles in Yamagata's arm strained, trying to hold off the attack. The head guard groaned. His fingers moved closer to Yamagata's throat.

Yamagata looked to his right hand. The head guard had a vice-like grip around his wrist. He could only think of one way to break it.

Mouth open, Yamagata snapped his head forward. He clamped his teeth down on the head guard's thumb. The wet, coppery taste of blood spilled onto his lips and tongue. He bit down even harder.

The head guard cried out in pain. His grip on Yamagata's wrist slackened. He released his hold, then pulled back his other arm. The head guard clutched his bleeding thumb, howling and cursing.

Yamagata spit the blood from his mouth and jumped on top of the head guard. He squeezed the tube. A stream of colorful glitter fell into the other man's eyes.

The head guard screamed louder, pawing at his eyes. It didn't matter how big or tough someone was, if you got him in the eyes, you took him out of the fight for a bit.

A bit was all Yamagata needed.

He got to his feet and kicked the head guard in the skull. The man slumped to his side. Yamagata kicked him in the head again for good measure. The head guard collapsed on his stomach, moaning into the cold, hard ground.

Yamagata found the fallen asp. All around him prisoners and guards fought. McGovern jammed a sharpened stone into a guard's throat and sliced it open. Blade got hold of an asp and clubbed another guard into unconsciousness. Ashby struggled with one guard who clutched a container of pepperspray. Yamagata went over to help the other pilot.

The guard's finger pressed the button. A stream of pepperspray flew at Yamagata. He dodged right.

Too late. The spray caught him in the shoulder. Some of it splattered against Yamagata's cheek. A stale odor akin to bug spray surrounded his head.

Yamagata hacked. His throat burned. It felt like a swarm of bees attacked his left eye.

_Fight through. Fight through. _He thought back to boot camp when they exposed him to tear gas and pepperspray. He couldn't let it take him out of the fight. Too much was at stake.

Teeth clenched, he hurried over to Ashby and the guard. Just before he reached them, Ashby kicked the guard's ankle twice. Something popped. The guard roared in pain and staggered. Ashby decked him. The guard fell.

"Burner, you okay?"

"Fine, Sir." Ashby grabbed the fallen guard's pepperspray. "You?"

Yamagata coughed and kept his burning left eye shut. "I'll live."

He looked over his shoulder with his good eye. The prisoners had overwhelmed the guards. He caught glimpses of CEMCOR personnel on the ground, pummeled by a storm of fists and feet.

"Beastmasters! On me!"

Yamagata dashed across the football field. Out the corner of his eye he saw the entire tent had gone up in flames. Behind him he saw the rest of the Excalibur pilots and crew, along with other members of the 1st JSCS, on his six. Some of them carried asps and pepperspray taken from the guards.

"Company!" Sergeant Essian yelled. "To the right!"

Yamagata looked. Six CEMCOR guards ran onto the football field. All of them carried assault rifles.

"Stop!" one shouted, bringing up his weapon. "Stop or -"

Yellow tracers slashed through the darkness. The guard crumpled. So did two others. The remaining ones threw themselves to the ground.

Yamagata looked up at the press box. More tracers from the M-60 streaked toward the guards.

Hernandez and Pena were still watching over them.

The 1st JSCS members hustled to the chainlink fence. Asp clenched between his teeth, Yamagata started up it, then with one hand threw the blanket over the barbed wire. His squadronmates did likewise.

Yamagata pulled himself onto the blanket. Some of the barbs dug into his body, though not as bad they would have without the blanket. He swung one leg over, then the other, and dropped to the ground.

"Freeze!"

He looked up. A cop stood a few feet away, AR-15 rifle aimed at him.

Another prisoner dropped down from the fence. McGovern.

"Freeze!" The cop swung his rifle toward the weapons systems officer.

"Whoa!" Gov threw up his arms. "Chill out, dude!"

Another man leapt off the fence. Essian. The cop didn't know who to cover.

Yamagata jumped to his feet. The cop turned to him. Yamagata grabbed the barrel of the AR-15 and pushed it up. Two shots rang out. Yamagata rammed his knee into the cop's gut. McGovern came up behind the cop and punched him in the back. His knees buckled. McGovern hit him again. Yamagata kneed him again. The cop fell to his knees. Yamagata put a boot in his face. That put him flat on his back.

The cop turned out to be a walking armory. Yamagata took the AR-15 and two extra 30-round magazines. McGovern grabbed the SiG-Sauer P226 pistol and two 15-round magazines. The cop's back-up piece, a Ruger .380 LCP, and an extra 6-round clip went to Essian. Ashby got a taser, Sharpe a tear gas grenade, Caputo a flash/bang grenade and Dillard the baton.

Yamagata frowned as he looked down at the semi-conscious cop. "Sorry about that." He turned to the other Beastmasters. "Let's go."

They dashed along the fenceline. Civilian vehicles, along with a few police cars and surplus Humvees, sat in the parking lot. Yamagata looked past them to the yellow school bus parked by a knot of trees. That might have been the same bus that brought them here.

Now it was their ticket out.

Two CEMCOR guards ran toward them. Yamagata brought up the AR-15 and fired. McGovern also squeezed off a few rounds from his SiG. The guards went into spasms and collapsed.

They snaked their way around the parked cars, using them for cover. The M-60 continued to chatter. Yamagata looked over the bed of a pick-up. The bus lay forty feet away.

They maneuvered around the pick-up, then hurried over to an Independence police car. He looked around.

Four shadowy figures rushed around an SUV on the other side of the lot.

"Take cover!"

Yamagata fired a couple of bursts, jogging backwards toward the hood of the police car. Orange flashes lit up the air around the SUV. Rounds thumped against the police car. The lightbar and back window shattered. Yamagata heard a round crack past him and dove behind the hood. He looked around and did a mental roll call. All Beastmasters were accounted for.

The CEMCOR guards continued to fire. More blows went through the police car. Yamagata leaned around the hood as far as he dared and fired. More cracks and pops came from McGovern's and Essian's pistols.

The AR-15 clicked empty. Yamagata crouched, ripped out the empty magazine and shoved in a fresh one. More enemy rounds cracked around him or punched into the police car.

He had to end this firefight, now! Before more CEMCOR guards showed up. Or before they ran out of their limited supply of ammo.

Yamagata took stock of what they had, then came up with a plan.

"Blade. When I give the word, you throw that tear gas grenade at those CEMCOR assholes. Ashby, Caputo, you're with me."

Caputo's brow furrowed. "Sir?"

"If they get a lungful of that stuff, they won't be able to fight effectively. At the very least the cloud will obscure their vision. While they're distracted, we'll do an end around and hit 'em from behind. Got it."

Both Ashby and Caputo nodded, but still looked unsure. Yamagata understood. Both were Air Force and didn't get a lick of infantry training like he'd had as a Marine.

"Don't worry. It'll be fine."

A burst of rifle fire ripped apart the lightbar.

_I hope._

"Blade. Throw that grenade on three."

"Got it."

"Gov. Essian. Give 'em cover fire."

Both men acknowledged.

"Ready? One . . . two . . . three!"

Yamagata, McGovern and Essian opened up. "Blade" Sharpe pulled the pin, stood and flung the grenade. It clattered near the hood of the SUV. White smoke poured out of it.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Yamagata sprinted out from behind the police car, bent at the waist. Ashby and Caputo followed. It was open ground for twenty feet. It felt like twenty miles to Yamagata. The damn bright orange jumpsuit seemed to scream for bullets to fly his way.

None did. They reached a car twelve feet from the SUV and ducked behind it. Wisps of tear gas drifted by. Yamagata heard a couple of coughs from behind the SUV.

"Caputo. Flash/bang."

The sensor specialist nodded. He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. It hit the asphalt and rolled just underneath the SUV's rear bumper.

A blast like several bass drums went off, accompanied by an orange flash. Two silhouettes fell into view, writhing on the ground.

Yamagata ran toward the SUV. He targeted one guard and fired three rounds. The man twitched, then lay still. The second guard met a similar fate.

Yamagata checked around the rear of the SUV. Two more guards were on the ground, rolling from side to side, hands over their ears.

One of them was a cop.

Yamagata fired the last three rounds in his AR-15 into the CEMCOR guard. He then turned to Ashby.

"Taser the cop."

Ashby did as ordered. They relieved the cop and the dead CEMCOR guards of their weapons. At least they had a little more firepower now.

With no other guards in sight, Yamagata and the other Beastmasters ran for the school bus. He forced open the door and ushered the others on board. Ashby knocked off the ignition with a baton and hotwired the bus. The engine growled to life. Yamagata slid into the driver's seat and stepped on the gas. He turned the wheel and pointed the bus toward the football field. The damn thing handled like a humpback whale with wheels. He sideswiped four cars as he tried to get a feel for driving the bus.

Bullets smacked against the side. Several Beastmasters stuck pistols and rifles out the windows and returned fire.

The security fence gate came into view. Yamagata pressed down on the accelerator.

Two CEMCOR guards appeared in front of him. They raised their rifles.

"Enemy fire to the front!"

Yamagata ducked down as far as he could in his seat. Rounds crashed through the window. Cold air blasted inside. More bullets pinged through the interior and punched into the seats. McGovern crawled over and fired his newly liberated M-16 out the front window without looking.

The gate loomed ahead. The CEMCOR guards dove out of the way. One not fast enough as a dull thump went through the bus.

The bus smashed through the gate. Yamagata stomped on the brake and put the gearshift in park.

"Gov, with me. The rest of you, cover fire."

He and McGovern got off the bus while the others fired out the windows. Prisoners rushed to the now open gate. Yamagata tensed, his gut turning to cold granite. God, he hoped he could do what needed to be done.

A group of prisoners charged at the bus. Both Yamagata and McGovern raised their rifles.

"What are you doing?" one prisoner demanded.

"There's not enough room for everyone," said Yamagata. "Essential personnel only."

"Fuck you, man."

Several prisoners stomped forward.

Yamagata fired three shots over their heads. They ducked.

"The next shots go lower. We can only take essential personnel of the First Joint Special Combat Squadron. If I don't call out your name, scatter."

Many prisoners looked beyond pissed. Actually, they looked ready to murder him and McGovern. Yamagata could sympathize. Hell, what he was doing right now made him feel like crap. He tried to convince himself that this was necessary to save the entire country.

It still didn't make him feel any better.

Yamagata scanned the crowd for familiar faces. He called out the names of groundcrew and Security Forces personnel. Some of those not called glared at him. Thankfully, they didn't try anything. The muzzles of AR-15s and M-16s could be very persuasive.

A few prisoners dashed across the parking lot, not wanting to wait around a second longer. Other prisoners arrived, including the women. Yamagata kept one eye on them and another on the ones he wouldn't allow on the bus.

Relief and joy swelled within him when he spotted Nicole. He motioned her to get on board, along with two nurses, a few groundcrew members and a C-17 co-pilot. Finally, Hernandez and Pena showed up, the master sergeant clutching the M-60, a belt of 7.62mm rounds dangling from it.

More prisoners beat it across the parking lot. At least two dozen diehards stayed, demanding to be let onboard.

"I'm sorry. Get out of here. Now."

McGovern hurried inside. Yamagata backed inside the bus, AR-15 pointed at the crowd. He clutched the door handle, regret weighing heavy in his chest.

He shut the door.

The prisoners rushed the bus, cursing and pounding on it.

"Caputo. Blade. Pepperspray the prisoners."

There was a second's hesitation by both men, but they replied, "Yes, Sir."

The two stuck their hands out the window and sent streams of pepperspray into the prisoners. Many hacked, pawed their eyes and retreated.

Yamagata felt a lump form in his throat. He took a couple of deep breaths, regaining his composure. He had no time for emotion right now.

He backed the bus up, smashing into a few cars, then cut the wheel. Turning this damn big banana boat around took a hell of a lot longer than he would have liked.

Rounds smacked against the bus. Yamagata heard an agonized scream. Then another. Then gunfire erupted within the bus as the Beastmasters returned fire.

He swung the bus around, clipping a Humvee. The wheels bumped along the curb as he drove out of the parking lot. He took the twisting road, climbing onto more curbs, before turning left onto another road that led to the interstate. He bypassed it, continuing south, leaving behind the school/prison camp. After a mile he only saw forest, farmland and a few scattered houses.

"Who got hit?" asked Yamagata.

"Two wounded," replied one of the nurses, a lieutenant named Perez. "They'll make it."

He nodded. "Nicole."

She came to the front of the bus, giving him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "Sorry. I know PDA is against regs."

"To hell with regs right now." He grinned. "Look around for a road map. CEMCOR's bound to put a BOLO out on us." He used the acronym for Be On the Lookout. "If they haven't already. We need to stay off the main roads as much possible."

It took Nicole a minute to find a road map. She switched on the interior light and looked it over.

"It looks we're on North Twyman Road right now. We can make a right a half-mile from here on East Bundschu Road. After that, we have our choice of side roads." Nicole looked up, face scrunched. "You hear that?"

Yamagata did. A dull, rubbery thumping sound came up from the road.

"Shit, they got one of our tires."

"That's not all." Nicole pointed to the engine gauge. The needle climbed steadily higher toward the red. It looked like a round or two went through the radiator.

Yamagata kept the pedal down. The more distance they could put between them and the high school, the better.

He got another ten miles out of the damaged bus before the engine gave out past Blue Springs. Sighing, he turned to the rest of the newly escaped prisoners.

"Okay, people. Put on your hiking shoes. You're going to need them."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	22. Chapter 22

Yamagata regretted leaving the blankets behind at Fort Osage High School as they trekked through the woods. It couldn't be more than 30 degrees, and the orange prison jumpsuits did nothing to keep out the bitter cold.

They also didn't do anything as far as camouflage went.

But they needed to move. It wouldn't be long before the school bus was discovered, then CEMCOR and any police sympathizers would descend on Blue Springs with a vengeance.

Yamagata's teeth chattered. They couldn't keep going like this much longer. They had to find temporary shelter. More importantly, they needed warm clothes, and food and water. Then they had to get back to Joint Base Richards-Gebaur in Kansas City 15 miles west.

They also needed weapons. Much of the ammo from the rifles and pistols they took from the prison guards had been used up during the escape. If they wanted to retake their base, they needed more firepower. They also needed medical supplies. Gorinski, one of the groundcrewmen, took a round in the shoulder. Borgmann, a Security Forces trooper, had the lower part of his right ear taken off by a bullet. Neither wound was fatal, but Lieutenant Perez worried about infection setting in.

Yamagata kicked himself. He should have planned this better. They'd do the country no good freezing to death in the Missouri woods or by getting recaptured. But they needed to escape the high school ASAP. He hadn't thought much beyond that.

_And now we're paying for it._

No. They'd only pay for it if they failed.

Yamagata led the nearly 40 members of the 1st JSCS through the woods for another mile. A small ball of light appeared in the distance.

His right fist snapped up. Every halted, then crouched. He waved for Master Sergeant Hernandez to come over.

"What'd you got, Sir?"

"Looks like there's a house about fifty meters ahead. Let's scout it out, see if we can hole up there for a while."

"What if it's occupied?" asked Hernandez.

"We secure the owners with as little force as possible. Get two of your Security Forces people and we'll recon it."

"Yes, Sir."

Hernandez called over two troopers named Maxvill and Guzman. Both were armed with pepperspray. Yamagata left "Blade" Sharpe in charge as the four scouted ahead.

They discovered a two-story ranch-style house. Pretty expensive looking. And isolated. Yamagata couldn't see another house anywhere nearby.

He hopped the fence and belly crawled across the lawn. The blinds were drawn on the windows and sliding back door, but light showed around the edges. Whoever owned the house was still up. Yamagata and his group may have to stay out here until they went to bed. He hoped that wouldn't be much longer.

Then what? A house like this had to have a security system. If they broke a window the cops would be here in minutes. He considered moving on to another house. But how far away was the next one? Would that one also be big, expensive and come with a security system?

They needed shelter and supplies, now. He'd consult with Hernandez and his SF guys. They were trained in how to breach buildings. Surely they could come up with a way to –

The back door opened.

"Let's go, Jolly," said a male voice. "Let's go."

A black and white Springer Spaniel trotted out the door. It stopped a few feet from Yamagata, growled and barked.

_Shit._

"What the hell?" The portly man in the doorway stepped outside, staring right at him.

Yamagata jumped up and aimed his AR-15 at him. "Hands up!"

"Oh God. Please don't kill me."

Yamagata advanced on him. The dog kept barking, then got a mouthful of his pants. He kicked out his leg once, twice. The dog let go.

The homeowner didn't move.

"Inside. Now!"

Yamagata pushed him through the door. A female scream burst from the living room. He turned to find a middle-age brunette in a bathrobe on the couch.

"On the floor! Both of you! Now!"

The couple laid on the floor, face down. The woman sobbed.

Self-loathing bubbled inside Yamagata. The last thing he wanted to do was scare these people half to death. They were innocents, watching TV before going to bed, not bothering anyone. Now they probably wondered if this crazy stranger was about to shoot them.

He caught movement to his right. Hernandez, Maxvill and Guzman entered, with Maxvill carrying the struggling dog under one arm, his hand clamped over its mouth.

"Put the dog in a closet," Hernandez ordered. "Guzman. Find something to secure the civilians."

The two SF troopers did as instructed. Yamagata kept the couple covered. The woman didn't stop crying. The man trembled. Guzman returned with Duct Tape and bound the couple's hands and ankles.

"Guzman. Go get the others and bring them here," ordered Yamagata.

"Yes, Sir."

After the young trooper left, Yamagata asked the couple, "What's your names?"

"W-Warren Fairly."

"Molly Fairly," the woman answered through her sobs.

"Mister and Mrs. Fairly, I apologize for the inconvenience. We have no intention of harming you. We just need your place for a few hours, then we'll be on our way."

"J-Just take what you want," begged Warren. "Please don't hurt us."

"I thought I just said we weren't gonna hurt you."

Yamagata tried to grin at his little bit of levity. That proved impossible looking at the Fairlys, seeing how terrified they were.

Terrified of him.

He wanted to turn away from them. The enemies of America should be terrified of him, not two middle-aged Americans.

The rest of the 1st JSCS filed into the house. Yamagata ordered Dillard to guard the Fairlys with pepperspray. He didn't want to risk an accidental firearm discharge injuring or killing them.

Yamagata sent some men to the kitchen for food. "But don't go hog wild," he added. "Leave some for these folks."

A few others he sent to the closets to see what clothing the couple had. Perez took the injured to the bathroom to treat them.

"I found some cereal, bread and peanut butter and jelly," Caputo reported. "Other than that, the cupboard's pretty bare, along with the fridge."

Yamagata nodded. Gigan's attacks played havoc with the interstate system and the railways, making it hard to transport food and other goods. President Zamora had nationalized the food supply supposedly to make everyone got enough to eat. Apparently it wasn't working.

_Or maybe it is, and everyone has barely enough to eat._

"Well then, everyone gets one PB and J. It's better than nothing."

"Yes, Sir."

Nicole then gave him a report on the clothing situation. "They have a lot of shirts and pants, but only a few coats. There's no way their clothes are going to fit every one of us." She looked over to the Fairlys. A distressed look came over her face.

"I know." Yamagata clutched her wrist. "I don't like doing this any more than you."

"I know. Let's just do what we need to do and go. The sooner we're out of here, the better I'll feel."

"You and me both." He looked to the couple. "Mister Fairly, where's your computer?"

"My office. Upstairs."

Yamagata and Nicole climbed the stairs. Warren Fairly's office was the second door on the right. Yamagata booted up the computer and went online.

"What are we looking for?" asked Nicole.

"A place where we can get enough clothes for all of us, and guns."

He was about to do a Google search when Nicole pointed to the screen. "Jeff. Look at that."

The home page news feed showed a photograph of him in his prison uniform. The caption underneath read, TRAITOROUS MILITARY UNIT AT LARGE.

Yamagata scowled. "Traitorous my ass."

"They sure as hell didn't waste any time putting the word out about us," said Nicole.

"Yeah. Which means we can't linger here too long."

He did a search for thrift stores and gun stores in Blue Springs, found a few and printed out the maps. Much of the city was suburban. They could get to these places without traveling on too many main roads. Yamagata had no doubt CEMCOR would be setting up checkpoints.

Next he went to the garage. The Fairlys owned two vehicles, an SUV and a Ram 1500 Laramie quad cab pickup. The keys were in a cup on the kitchen counter.

"Guzman, Maxvill. With me. We're going shopping. Blade, you're in charge. If we're not back before dawn, or if CEMCOR shows up, forget about us and head west to KC."

Sharpe looked reluctant, but muttered, "Yes, Sir."

"Be careful," said Nicole.

"I will." He smiled at her, then headed into the garage with the two SF men. They stripped off their orange prison pants and put on dark pants that belonged to Warren Fairly. All three found the pants loose fitting. Fairly was far from skinny. Next they donned winter coats, which fit them like a tent.

Yamagata drove with the lights off. He didn't think Zamora had lifted martial law, meaning the dawn to dusk curfew was still in effect. They'd be in huge trouble if any CEMCOR thugs spotted them, even if they weren't escaped prisoners. His one hope lay in the numbers game. Blue Springs probably had a population of 50,000. Yamagata figured most of the CEMCOR forces in Missouri would be concentrated in larger cities like Kansas City, St. Louis and Springfield. They'd probably have a small garrison force in Blue Springs, backed up by sympathizer cops. With any luck, they could avoid them.

They did, reaching the thrift shop with no trouble. It lay in a small commercial pad with a deli, a beauty school and financial advisory office. All of them were closed. Yamagata noticed no cameras or other security systems. He used the butt of his AR-15 to smash open the glass door of the thrift shop.

_Great. Now I'm breaking and entering._

He tried to put the guilt out of his mind. The fate of his country was at stake. Still, he made a mental note to repay the business for the door and whatever they took.

Provided they lived through this.

Maxvill got a shopping cart and followed Yamagata and Guzman. Both grabbed handfuls of clothes and shoes and pitched them into the cart. They also grabbed water bottles from another table. At the checkout counter, Yamagata noticed a wicker basket of after dinner mints. They, too, went into the basket. They wouldn't be filling by any stretch of the imagination, but right now food was food.

They dumped everything into the bed of the pickup and drove to their next destination, a small gun store in a mixed residential/business neighborhood. So far they hadn't run into any CEMCOR patrols or police. Their luck was holding out.

Yamagata wondered how much longer that would continue.

There was a grated security door over the store's entrance. Yamagata frowned. He had no doubt this place was alarmed. But they had no choice.

"Two minutes," he told the SF men. "Grab all the guns and ammo you can, then we're outta here."

Both Maxvill and Guzman answered, "Yes, Sir."

Yamagata shot off the lock. He then shot out the glass door and went inside, the SF men following.

Their luck ran out.

The gun store was empty. Nothing on the racks. Nothing in the cases. Not so much as a bullet could be found anywhere.

"Where the hell is everything?" asked Guzman.

"CEMCOR," Yamagata answered through clenched teeth. He had a feeling this would be another part of Zamora's martial law bullshit. You couldn't have a proper dictatorship if the populace was armed.

"We're outta here."

The trio dashed back to the pickup. Yamagata sped off, glancing at the houses around him. Was anyone calling the police about the gunfire? Had they tripped a silent alarm?

He fought the urge to curse and slam his hand against the steering wheel. He was an officer. He couldn't afford a meltdown in front of two noncoms.

Yamagata weighed his options. They had to have more guns and ammo if they had any hope of taking Richards-Gebaur. But they wouldn't help their cause by getting caught by CEMCOR or the cops.

He decided to risk it. Turning on the interior light, he quickly checked the maps. There was another gun store a mile-and-a-half away.

_What if CEMCOR cleaned that one out as well?_

Then they'd head back to the house. Yamagata felt he was pushing his luck with each passing minute.

He committed the route to memory and shut off the interior light. He turned down one residential street, then another. No other vehicles dove past him. Every house he saw had their lights off. Part of him wondered if there was anyone in Blue Springs.

Yamagata turned onto another street . . . and stomped on the brakes.

Muzzle flashes winked down the street. Yamagata saw two gunmen aiming for the second floor of a house.

"What the hell's going on?" Guzman leaned forward in his seat.

The firing stopped. The gunmen rushed into the house.

"Let's check this out," said Yamagata.

Maxvill and Guzman readied their pepperspray. Yamagata drove up to the house and stopped behind another pickup parked along the curb. The trio exited their vehicle, not closing the doors after them. The less noise they made, the better.

A human-shaped silhouette with an assault rifle next to him lay on the ground. Yamagata saw splotches of blood on his chest and neck. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. He noticed the white-gray-black splotched urban camouflage BDUs.

The man was CEMCOR.

Yamagata motioned to the SF men to guard the front door of the house. He walked up to the pickup and checked in the bed.

"Holy shit."

The bed was filled with weapons. Revolvers, semi-automatic pistols, hunting rifles, shotguns, assault rifles and boxes of ammunition. Yamagata also noticed other items mixed with the weapons. Christmas decorations, crucifixes and pictures of Jesus.

CEMCOR had embarked on its gun confiscation operation in earnest. Not only that, they also took away any symbols of Christianity.

_Probably so no one gets offended._

Yamagata heard booted feet coming from the house. He got behind the bed and raised his AR-15. Guzman and Maxvill crouched on either side of the door frame.

Two CEMCOR troopers walked out, one with an M-16 at the ready, the other carrying a pair assault rifles, probably belonging to the home owner.

Guzman and Maxvill sprayed them. The CEMCOR troopers dropped their weapons, cried out and covered their faces.

Yamagata cut them both down.

"Maxvill. Check the house. Guzman. Help me get their weapons and put them in the back of their pickup."

Yamagata and Guzman grabbed the rifles from the dead CEMCOR troopers while Maxvill went into the house. He came back out a couple of minutes later.

"The house is clear except for an old couple." Maxvill grimaced. "Both dead. The old guy had this on him." He held up a Smith & Wesson M&P 9mm pistol. "Looks like he wasn't about to give up his guns without a fight."

Yamagata nodded, then looked at the CEMCOR pickup. How many other people didn't give up those weapons without a fight?

He put it out of his mind. All that mattered now was they had the weapons they needed.

"Go through the kitchen," Yamagata ordered the SF men. "You've got one minute to grab all the food you can."

Maxvill and Guzman hustled into the house. Yamagata plucked the field caps off the three dead CEMCOR troopers, then looked around the neighborhood. He couldn't see anyone peeking out windows. Could someone be calling the police? He kept an ear out for sirens. He heard none.

Maxvill and Guzman returned with armfuls of bread, cereal, canned goods, a jar of jelly and a small bag of potatoes.

"Put these on." Yamagata handed the field caps to the SF men after they put the food in the Ram pickup's cab. "If we get stopped, we'll have to pretend we're CEMCOR."

He considered switching out their clothes with the CEMCOR uniforms. Unfortunately, the blood stains made them useless disguises.

Yamagata and Guzman got in the CEMCOR pickup, its doors emblazoned with the CEMCOR logo, while Maxvill drove the Ram. Yamagata had Guzman drive. His picture was all over the internet now, and he didn't think the Asian population in this part of Missouri was all that big. He had to do as little as possible to stick out.

They drove out of the neighborhood with their headlights on. CEMCOR vehicles on official business wouldn't drive without lights.

Guzman turned onto a main arterial when a Blue Springs police car approached from the opposite direction.

"Oh shit."

"Play it cool, Guzman," said Yamagata, who managed to keep the worry out of his voice. "We're CEMCOR. We're supposed to be out and about."

"Yes, Sir. Right now I'm the coolest guy in the world."

The police car slowed down. So did their pickup. Yamagata tucked his chin into his chest, hoping he didn't look too suspicious in hiding his face.

Out the corner of his eye he saw Guzman roll down the window. He gave the cop a nod. Yamagata's chest tightened. Any second he expected to see red lights flashing and shouts of, "Out of the vehicle!"

The police car passed by and continued down the street.

Both Yamagata and Guzman let out sighs of relief.

"How about congratulating me, Sir?" said Guzman. "I didn't shit my pants."

"Then you can congratulate me for doing the same."

They made it back to the house without incident. Everyone changed into clothes from the thrift store and picked out their weapons. It took a while to sort through the ammunition to find the proper rounds for each gun. Next everyone shoved as much food and extra ammo into their pockets as they could, with Lieutenant Perez and the other nurse stocking up on medical supplies. After filling the water bottles taken from the thrift store, Yamagata went over to the Fairlys, now sitting on the couch, but still bound.

"Again, I apologize for breaking into your home and scaring you. But I promise you, what we're doing is necessary to free our country."

Neither one said anything. Warren Fairly stared at him with a mixture of fear and anger.

"Sir, ma'am. Good night."

Yamagata turned away from the couple. He didn't free them. They'd be able to free themselves eventually.

"Okay, people, time to go. It's a long walk to Kansas City."

Yamagata led the 1st JSCS out through the back door. They now had warm clothes, weapons and some food. Getting all that had gone easier than he'd expected.

What lay ahead of them, though, would be anything but easy.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	23. Chapter 23

It took Yamagata's group two-and-a-half days to reach Joint Base Richards-Gebaur. They had to travel a circuitous route to stick to wooded areas. Twice they had to hide from CEMCOR patrols.

Still, they made it to their home base. Yamagata hoped the patrols looking for them would be few and far between around here. CEMCOR and police officers would probably expect them to lie low, not mount an assault on their base.

They hid among the dried out stalks of the nearby farmland, observing "Dickey-Goober." The first thing Yamagata did with the binoculars he took from the CEMCOR pickup was scan the reinforced hangars.

_Please be there._ He hesitated before putting the binocs to his eyes. What if he was wrong? What if CEMCOR did destroy their MF-3 Excaliburs? What then?

Letting out a breath, Yamagata raised the binoculars to his eyes, and prayed.

He zoomed in on the nearest hangar. Sitting inside was an oblong aircraft with a sloped nose, swept wings and a V-shaped tail.

"Thank you, God," Yamagata whispered.

He checked the other hangars. The other two Excailburs were inside and intact. Four C-17s also sat along the runway.

_Now we just have to figure out a way to get them._

They spent a full day observing the base. To Yamagata the place appeared almost deserted. There couldn't be more than a few dozen personnel there. CEMCOR for the most part, with a few US Air Force personnel sprinkled in. That aggravated him to no end. Could they not see President Zamora had overstepped his authority? That the man had shredded The Constitution every member of the Armed Forces took an oath to protect?

Maybe they did. Maybe they even supported what Zamora was doing. Millions of men and women served in the military. Millions of individuals, with their own set of beliefs and ideas, some of which might mirror Zamora's.

A handful of guards walked the perimeter, all carrying M4s, probably from the base's armory. The hole in the fence Yamagata made during his escape hadn't been repaired, but there was a sandbagged machine gun nest covering it. Yamagata expected more security, given the value of the Excaliburs. Maybe CEMCOR didn't think they needed it. Maybe they thought they were firmly in control of the country.

_We'll prove them wrong._

Yamagata also noticed a few men in flightsuits coming out of the building that housed the Excalibur flight simulators. Just as he suspected. CEMCOR planned to use the aircraft themselves, and he doubted it would be to defend the United States against monster attacks.

It was well into the night when the 1st JSCS members returned to their forward operating base, a farm house a mile from Dickey-Goober. They had found the place abandoned and with the front door kicked in. Yamagata figured the owners did something to piss off the Zamora regime. They could have had guns or listened to the wrong talk radio program or sent a nasty email to the White House.

Such was life under the new American dictatorship.

The group gathered in the living room. Hernandez found a notepad and made a rough sketch of the base. It was hard to see in the darkness, but Yamagata didn't want to turn on any lights. That would only attract attention from the wrong people.

"Our best bet is to approach through the trees on the eastern side of the base," said Hernandez. "We found some tree pruning shears in the shed we can use to cut through the fence. We should be able to take 'em by surprise."

Yamagata nodded. "Good idea, Master Sergeant. But we might be better off hitting them from more than one direction. We can draw most of their forces to one side of the base, while you hit them from the other."

"I like it, Sir."

They brainstormed ideas, refined them, settled on a plan of attack, then refined the plan again. Next they decided on the time to attack. 0130 the next night. Not only would they have the cover of darkness, but human beings usually didn't operate at peak efficiency during early morning hours. Plus it would be cold and the sentries on duty would be thinking about the end of their shift and crawling into a nice warm bed.

The 1st JSCS spent most of the morning resting. They ate a late breakfast. Actually, more like lunch by the time those not on sentry duty woke up. They also took advantage of being in a place with running water. After nearly three days outdoors, all of them smelled pretty ripe. They took turns showering, with the lower ranks going first, per Yamagata's instructions.

_The men and women under you always come first._

Those who didn't shower used both electric and disposable razors to shave. They also rested some more, saving their strength. They would need it for later tonight.

As the highest ranking officer, Yamagata's turn to shower came last. He went upstairs, looking forward to soap and warm water. He could actually have a few minutes of peace, not think about President Zamora or Gigan or the assault on Joint Base Richards-Gebaur.

If only he could stretch out those minutes to, well, forever.

He walked into the bathroom . . . and saw Nicole standing beside the shower.

"Oh, sorry. I thought everyone else took their showers."

"Nope. I'm still waiting for mine."

"Well, have at it," said Yamagata. "I'll wait outside."

"The hell you will." Nicole crossed her arms and fixed him with a sly grin.

Desire burned inside him. He couldn't take his eyes off Nicole. How long had it been since he'd been with her? _Really _been with her.

Yamagata smiled and closed the bathroom door.

**XXXXX**

When night fell, Hernandez sent Guzman and three other Security Forces troopers to scout the base one last time. Yamagata and the others checked their weapons and kept going over the plan until Guzman's team returned.

"Nothing unusual to report," Guzman told him. "Everything's just like we saw it yesterday."

"Good. Let's do this thing."

Yamagata gave no last minute speech. Speeches were for movies. They'd all seen the massive death and destruction caused by Gigan. They'd been imprisoned by Zamora's CEMCOR jackboots, who had also murdered not only fellow service members, but innocent American civilians. If that couldn't motivate them, a few "rah-rah" words from him sure as hell wouldn't.

Hernandez set off first with his Security Forces troopers. Yamagata gave them 45 minutes to get in position before his force set out. Some piled in the back of an old GMC pickup that had belonged to the owner of the farmhouse. Other headed toward the base on foot. Yamagata drove slowly through the wheat fields, the headlights off. Sooner or later CEMCOR would know they were coming, especially if they had night vision equipment. That and a few well-placed bullets could wreck the entire plan.

Yamagata tried to beat down his worries. They continued to linger. They had to take Joint Base Richards-Gebaur and they had to do it quickly. A protracted gun battle would give time for CEMCOR and police reinforcements to arrive. Then they were truly screwed.

He drove on. The bright lights of the base blazed ahead of him. CEMCOR did nothing to hide its presence there. Why should they? They were the ones running the show now.

Nerves speared his gut the closer he got to the base. Any moment he expected bullets to slice through the pickup, or an anti-tank rocket to blast it apart.

Yamagata got within a quarter-mile of the base without a single shot coming his way. He put the pickup in neutral and got out.

"Everyone out," he told the people in the back. They hopped over the side.

Yamagata unscrewed the gas cap and stuck a ripped off piece of bed sheet into the tank.

"Caputo. When I tell you."

The sensor specialist nodded as Yamagata headed back to the cab. He grabbed the board lying on the passenger seat and wedged it between the driver's seat and the gas pedal. The engine roared.

"Now!"

Caputo lit a match and held it to the sheet. Flames crawled up it.

Yamagata switched on the headlights and put the truck in drive. He jumped back as it roared through the wheat field. Next he waved his unit forward. They bent at the waist and snaked through the dried out stalks, weapons at the ready. Three of them, two men and a woman, hung back with hunting rifles. They were the best shots in Yamagata's makeshift platoon and would function as snipers.

Shouts came from the base as the pickup drew closer. CEMCOR and USAF personnel ran toward the fence. The pickup drifted to the right before bursting out of the wheat field.

There was more shouting. Some shouted in surprise, others in confusion, a few in a combination of the two.

Then the shooting began.

Bullets pinged off the pickup. Windows shattered. It didn't slow down as it hit the chainlink fence. CEMCOR troopers continued to fire at it.

_WHUMP!_ The gas tank exploded. A bright ball of orange flame consumed the pickup. CEMCOR and USAF personnel threw themselves to the ground. About a minute passed before they started picking themselves up. More people in CEMCOR and Air Force uniforms ran toward them.

"Open fire!" Yamagata yelled.

Gunfire erupted from the wheat field. Enemy troops turned toward them. A few spun and twitched and fell to the ground. Some stood frozen in shock. A couple of them didn't stand very long, and would never rise again. A few others, mainly USAF members, broke and ran.

Yamagata and his unit didn't let up. He fired one burst after another. Part of him didn't care if he hit anything. Their main job was to make CEMCOR focus on them.

Sporadic return fire slapped at the dry stalks. So far none of his men and women had been hit. He hoped it stayed that way. Thankfully, they were well out of the field of fire of the machine gun positioned further down the eastern fenceline.

As soon as he thought it, he spotted two men running along the fenceline. One of them hefted a SAW machine gun, the same SAW that had covered the opening in the fence.

Yamagata aimed for them.

The man with the SAW spun around and dropped on his stomach. His partner stared at him, dumbfounded. Suddenly he stumbled back and crumpled to the ground.

Yamagata smiled. The snipers were doing their job.

A group of silhouettes rushed across the runway. Yamagata thought they were more enemy personnel until muzzle flashes appeared in front of them. The remaining CEMCOR personnel fell.

Master Sergeant Hernandez and his unit had arrived.

"Forward!" Yamagata led his unit toward the hole created by the pickup truck. No enemy fire came their way. They linked up with Hernandez's unit and swept through Joint Base Richards-Gebaur. Aside from a couple brief exchanges of gunfire, the base personnel either surrendered or fled. Hernandez ordered the few prisoners locked in the old bomb shelter that dated back to The Cold War.

"I've got one more for you, Master Sergeant," said "Blade" Sharpe, who approached along with Sergeant Essian and another man. "And you're not gonna believe who it is."

Hernandez walked toward the trio. So did Yamagata. His eyes widened when he recognized the person Sharpe and Essian escorted.

"Holy shit," Hernandez blurted.

Yamagata said nothing. He just gaped at General Griffin.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?" his commanding officer – former commanding officer now, Yamagata guessed – yelled. "Major Yamagata, have you lost your damn mind? You've just attacked a United States military installation. You've killed agents of the United States Government! My God, you can't even comprehend what kind of trouble you're in."

"What the hell is the meaning of _this_?" Yamagata swept his arm over the base. "Why the hell are you here while we were locked up in a prison camp?"

"I'm here because I am the commander of this base."

"What? You can still serve this government after what happened? After CEMCOR arrested us, after they killed our people? _Your _people?"

"CEMCOR had evidence they were conspiring against the United States Government," replied Griffin.

"We need to conspire against the government," Yamagata shot back. "Are you blind to what Zamora's doing? Locking up people who disagree with him without any trial or formal charges. Putting these CEMCOR thugs in charge of law enforcement. Confiscating guns from law-abiding civilians."

"In case you haven't noticed, Major, Gigan has left this country a mess. Declaring martial law was the only option The President had to maintain order. I took an oath to follow the orders of my commander-in-chief, and that is what I'm doing."

"Bullshit!" Yamagata shoved his face inches from General Griffin's. "That's just an excuse for being too cowardly to stand up against a man who's no longer a president, but a damn tyrant!"

Griffin's jaw trembled for a few moments. He managed to square his shoulders. "You're wrong. I'm a loyal officer of the United States of America. You, all of you, are traitors, and you'll all die for what you've done!"

"Master Sergeant!" barked Yamagata.

"Sir."

"Get this son-of-a-bitch out of my face."

"With pleasure, Sir."

Hernandez wrapped a meaty paw around Griffin's biceps and dragged him away. The general fired off a stream of threats and profanities. Yamagata ignored them. He had more important things to do.

"Guzman. Post guards around the base. Ashby. Take the groundcrew and get our Excaliburs ready to fly. Gov. Take the rest of the Beastmasters, grab as many weapons and as much food as you can and load them into a C-17. Perez. Get whatever medical supplies you might need. Captain Fox, you're with me. We need to get as much intel on Nebraska as possible and come up with a flight plan. Hopefully Hernandez's ex-Secret Service buddy can give us the help we need to take out Zamora."

"For all the risks we're taking, he better," said Nicole.

Everyone went off to carry out their assignments. In the Signals Intelligence room, Yamagata sat at one console, and Nicole at another. He called up a list of airports and airfields in Nebraska. He crossed off all military bases. They were probably under CEMCOR control by now. He needed one in a small city, a place they could hold for at least one day.

"Well, we can forget about landing in Omaha or Lincoln," said Nicole. "Eppley Airfield was destroyed when Gigan attacked Omaha. Looks like he also took out Lincoln, too. Satellite imagery shows lots of fire and rubble."

"Those were too big for us anyway. Has Gigan attacked any other cities in Nebraska?"

Nicole shook her head. "No sign that he did. Then again, other than Omaha and Lincoln, there aren't any really big cities in Nebraska. Not much for Gigan to destroy."

Yamagata nodded, then studied the list of airports. "This one's our best bet." He pointed to the screen. "North Platte Regional Airport. It's about sixty miles from Arthur, where Hernandez's friend lives. The airport has two runways, the longest eight thousand feet."

Nicole winced. "That's not much when you're talking about a C-17 and your Excaliburs."

"We really don't have much choice. None of the other airports within a hundred miles of Arthur have a bigger runway. Any other news on how things are in Nebraska?"

Nicole went online and checked websites, facebook pages and twitter accounts for TV stations, radio stations and newspapers throughout the state. "There are a few media outlets urging people to follow all instructions from CEMCOR. Some others don't have a web presence at all. I'm guessing Zamora shut 'em down because they wouldn't kiss his ass."

Yamagata sat silently in his seat. The bulk of Nebraska's population was in the eastern part of the state. North Platte and Arthur were located in the western part. Hopefully that would mean CEMCOR's presence would be heavier in the east than the west.

Hopefully.

Yamagata put together a quick flight plan to North Platte, then headed back to the runway with Nicole. All three Excaliburs sat on the tarmac, with Lieutenant Ashby looking them over.

"We're in luck, Ninja," he reported. "CEMCOR kept our planes in cherry shape. They also brought in more ordnance."

"Of course they did, now that we're not going to use it to blast President Zamora's pet."

Ashby nodded. "Either way, we're fully armed and fully fueled."

"Thanks, Burner. Good work."

Next Yamagata talked with McGovern.

"They didn't clean out the armory," Gov told him. "We've got plenty of M4s, pistols, SAWs and shotguns, even a few AT-4s. We also found a crapload of MREs. We won't be starving any time soon."

"Good work, Gov."

When Yamagata found Perez, she told him she found the base infirmary still well stocked, then cleaned the place out.

"Master Sergeant, recall our sentries. Lieutenant Nixon," he said to the female C-17 pilot. "Get to your plane and rev the engines. I want us all wheels up in ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir."

The Beastmasters boarded their Excaliburs, while the rest of the 1st JSCS piled into the C-17. Sharpe's jet took off first, followed by the C-17. Next to lift off was Ashby, with Yamagata bringing up the rear. When he completed his turn northwest, he took a moment to relish the feel of the ejection seat, the throb of the engines, the sight of the information streaming through his helmet mounted display. His confidence rose. He was where he belonged, in the cockpit of the most advanced fighter plane in the world.

For the first time in days, Yamagata felt they really stood a chance of stopping President Zamora and Gigan.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	24. Chapter 24

Every time Yamagata thought of the C-17 transport flying behind him, his anxiety ratcheted up a few more notches. Were it just his MF-3 Excaliburs in the air, he wouldn't have been this worried. They had stealth capability. The fat, ungainly C-17, however, might as well tow a neon banner behind it reading, "HERE I AM!" Some radar operator was bound to pick it up soon. They probably had already. Despite the heavy losses suffered at the hands of Gigan, the US Armed Forces still had quite a few combat aircraft operational. How many were flown by Zamora followers? Did he have it in him to shoot down his fellow pilots if it came down to it?

_You have to. It's either us or them._

The logic of that thought didn't make him feel any better.

No aircraft challenged them as they crossed the border from Kansas into Nebraska. Normally he'd see a mass of lights from Lincoln and Omaha blazing in the distance.

The only thing blazing from them now was the glow from several fires.

Yamagata's eyes remained locked on the distant, ruined cities. He thought of all the other cities destroyed by Gigan, the millions dead and injured.

All because of a madman.

He looked back down at his console, thinking about all the engagements they'd had with Gigan. They'd hurt the alien monster, but hadn't put him down for good. Dark claws of failure sank into him. The US military had given him command of the most advanced fighter planes in the world, gave him the responsibility to defend the country against giant monsters.

He had not done that with Gigan.

He had not done that with a lot of monsters. Sure the Beastmasters drove off Gorosaurus when it attacked Oahu a few months ago. All the other times his squadron had gone up against monsters, it had been Godzilla who delivered the final, victorious blow. Sometimes it made him wonder if the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron was even necessary. Hell, why didn't they just sit back and wait for Godzilla to show up and save the day?

_Unfortunately, that's not an option any more._

Not unless they could free Godzilla, and if the fire-breathing mutant dinosaur was still alive. Much as he wanted to defeat Gigan himself, Yamagata had to admit he'd love to have Godzilla back in this fight.

But freeing Godzilla meant a nearly 3,000-mile long trip to the Arctic. That meant they needed fuel, lots of it. Not an easy thing for a squadron being hunted by their own government. Then when they got there, how would they free the monster? Plasma-yield missiles could melt some of the ice, but not all of it. There was one other weapon he could think of that might do the trick, but could they really get their hands on it?

"Bogeys!" Caputo called out. "I've got two bogeys, bearing two-two-zero from the southwest, sixty miles and closing."

"Damn." Yamagata grunted. He should have known it would only be a matter of time before someone scrambled jets after them.

"Beastmaster Two and Three, November Five," Yamagata used the designation for the C-17. "We've got two bogeys inbound. Skirt to the north. I'll intercept. Any more planes come up, Two and Three, you kept 'em away from the transport."

"Roger, One," both Sharpe and Ashby replied.

Yamagata blasted ahead. He glimpsed the other two Excaliburs and the C-17 banking to the right.

"Caputo, you ID those planes yet?" asked McGovern.

"I'm picking up a pulse-Doppler radar. Frequency matches the AN/APG-68. Looks like they're F-16s."

Before Yamagata could say anything, a voice came over his radio.

"Unidentified aircraft, this is Cougar Flight, flight of two F-16 Fighting Falcons. You are ordered to follow us to Buckley Air Force Base in Colorado where you will be detained. If you fail to comply with this order, you will be shot down. Over."

"Caputo." Yamagata looked over his shoulder. "Are those Falcons headed to the transport?"

"Affirmative."

Just as he thought. The F-16s' radar hadn't picked up their Excalibur. The most sensible thing to do would be to drop behind them and take them out.

Against fellow American pilots, sensibility went out the window with Yamagata.

"Cougar Flight, this Beastmaster One, flight leader of the First Joint Special Combat Squadron. I'm sure you know our rep."

There was a moment's hesitation before the Falcon pilot responded, "I know about your squadron."

"Then you know what the MF-3 Excalibur is capable of. You know your aircraft is completely outmatched. Do yourselves a favor. RTB," he used the acronym for return to base, "and let us go about our merry way."

"Negative, Beastmaster One. You are wanted for treason, theft of United States military property and the murder of several agents of the federal government."

"Those charges are bogus. Can't you see you're following a president who's turned into a tyrant?"

"We are following the lawful orders of our commander-in-chief," replied the Falcon pilot. "Now surrender or be fired upon."

Yamagata lowered his head.

"I don't think we're gonna be able to talk our way out of this one, Ninja," said McGovern.

Yamagata looked to his WSO and frowned. "Unfortunately, I think you're right."

Checking the AESA – Actively Electronically Scanned Array – radar screen in his helmet-mounted display, Yamagata eyed the two blips representing the F-16s. He eased the stick left and rocketed toward them. Within seconds he spotted two sleek jets with semi-delta wings, long pointy noses and bubble canopies. He dipped the Excalibur's left wing and aimed for the gap between the F-16s.

Yamagata squeezed off two short bursts from the 30mm cannons. Tracers zipped past the two fighter jets. They banked away just as the Excalibur shot past them.

Yamagata shoved the stick left. G-forces pressed down on him as the Excalibur wheeled around. He saw one of the F-16s, then scanned left and right for his wingman. No sign of him.

"Gov. Arm freeze ray. Try and aim for the wing."

"Roger."

Yamagata again looked around for the other F-16. Still no sign of it. Even with the Excalibur's toughened hide and its stealth signature, which made it undetectable to missiles, he still didn't like not knowing where an enemy aircraft might be.

The F-16 jinked left, then right. Yamagata kept up with him.

"Gov, give me weapons control."

"You have weps."

The F-16 banked left, then right, then pulled up. Yamagata thought the pilot might be trying for a high yoyo maneuver to try and drop behind him.

He stayed on the F-16's tail. Yamagata slewed the Excalibur right. The gun pipper brushed over the wing.

A white beam flashed from the Excalibur's nose. A block of ice coated the F-16's wing. It tipped right. The pilot tried to level out.

The wing ripped away from the F-16. The jet rolled once, twice.

"Eject," Yamagata muttered under his breath. "Eject."

Flashes of orange burst around the canopy. It flew away from the F-16. The ejection seat blasted out of the jet. Yamagata let out a sigh of relief when he saw the chute deploy.

Something hammered the side of the Excalibur.

"I think we just found this guy's buddy," said McGovern.

More pings echoed off the hull. The remaining F-16 may not be able to get a missile lock on the Excalibur, but all you needed to aim the 20mm cannon was the Mark One Eyeball.

Yamagata banked right and climbed. He checked the rear camera. The F-16 pursued. Yamagata kept the nose up, flying higher and higher. He rolled the Excalibur on its back. He glanced out the top of the canopy, expecting the F-16 to overshoot him.

It didn't.

He checked the rear camera. The F-16 remained behind him. It fired its 20mm cannon. A few rounds struck the Excalibur.

Yamagata had to give the Falcon pilot begrudging respect. He didn't fall for the high-g barrel roll maneuver. The guy was good.

The guy also fired another burst of 20mm rounds. Some struck the Excalibur's fuselage. Yamagata knew they would never penetrate the jet's titanium alloy/artificial diamond fuselage. But if some of those rounds went into the exhaust and fouled up the engine, it would be a bad day for everyone onboard.

Yamagata shoved the stick forward. The Excalibur went into a dive. He checked the rear camera. The F-16 followed and opened fired.

The Excalibur started to level out. So did the F-16. Yamagata clenched his teeth and pulled back on the stick. The jet's speed bled off as the nose rose pointed straight up.

A rumble went through the Excalibur. That had to be the F-16 shooting right underneath him. Yamagata dropped the jet's nose, completing a textbook Cobra Maneuver.

He fired the freeze ray. Ice spread over the F-16's tail and engine. The jet started to fall.

The pilot ejected.

All the tension unwound from Yamagata's muscles. He pressed his back into his seat.

That's when Caputo shouted, "Multiple bogeys! Multiple bogeys!"

"How many?" demanded Yamagata.

"Six. Six more F-16s out of the west on an intercept course with the C-17. Fifty miles and closing."

Dread hit him with a vengeance. Nicole's face hovered in his mind's eye. She was on that C-17 with the rest of their support crew and supplies.

He swung the Excalibur back toward the transport, trying to keep his fear at bay. Still his heart beat furiously. If anything happened to that plane, if anything happened to Nicole . . .

_It won't. I won't let it._

"Beastmaster Two. Intercept inbound F-16s. I'll be with you ASAP. Beastmaster Three, you guard that transport like it's the Crown Jewels."

Both Sharpe and Ashby replied, "Roger."

Yamagata aimed the nose straight at the F-16s. Outnumbered three-to-one, he couldn't afford to try and give the pilots a chance to bail out. He had to take them down hard. The lives of nearly 40 people in that transport – Nicole's life – depended on it.

"Gov, arm particle beams," Yamagata ordered. "We have to light 'em up -"

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" blurted Caputo. "Four more F-16s just popped up on radar. Twenty miles behind the first group."

Yamagata fought off the urge to shiver. Ten planes against his three Excaliburs. Yes, they were the most advanced jets in the world, but as the old Soviet adage went, "Quantity has a quality all its own." All it took was one F-16 to get through to knock out the C-17.

Yamagata charged ahead, catching up to Sharpe's Excalibur.

_You want that plane, you have to get through us._

"Gov. Ready particle beams."

"Particle beams are hot. Acquiring target."

Something orange winked in the distance. Another flash lit up the night seconds later. _Missiles, _was Yamagata's first thought.

"Two Falcons from the first group just dropped off the scope," said Caputo. "Now a third one's gone."

Yamagata saw another distant fireball.

"Beastmaster Two, did you fire at the Sixteens?"

"Negative, One. I haven't touched my trigger."

Another F-16 exploded.

"Remaining Falcons are bugging out," reported Caputo. "I mean, remaining Falcons from the first group. The four from the second group are still inbound."

"Gov?" Yamagata turned to the WSO.

"I'm ready with the particle beams. Just say the word."

"Beastmasters, Beastmasters, this is Lobo Five with flight of four F-16s. Please respond. Over."

Yamagata turned to McGovern. The WSO shrugged. "What the hell? Let's see what they want."

Yamagata nodded and replied, "Beastmaster One here. State your business, Lobo Five."

"How about a thank you to start things off?"

"Say again?"

"We were monitoring the radio chatter between you and those Colorado Air Guard planes. Those jerkoffs are completely in the tank for Zamora. We thought we'd come give you a hand."

"And I take it you're not in the tank for our glorious leader?" asked Yamagata.

"We just downed four Falcons. If that doesn't convince you, what will?"

Yamagata said nothing. Could this be a ploy by CEMCOR? Try to gain his trust and then jump him?

_You said it yourself. There are bound to be other military units that will resist Zamora's rule._

"Thanks for the assist, Lobo Five."

"Any time, Beastmaster. Where are you headed?"

Yamagata chewed on his lip. "I'd rather not say, in case we've got some eavesdroppers on this freq."

"Understood. We'd be happy to escort you, if you don't mind."

Part of him did mind. He really had no idea if these guys were sincere or just gaining his trust to stab him in the back later.

_If they are sincere, we could use all the help we can get._

_And if they're not . . ._

Yamagata decided to give them the benefit of a doubt, but keep his guard up.

"Join the party, Lobo Five."

The newly expanded squadron headed west. Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo kept tabs on the "friendly" F-16s. They had not done anything threatening. Yamagata hoped it stayed that way.

A half-hour later, Yamagata's Excalibur touched down on the runway of North Platte Regional Airport. Sharpe and Ashby landed soon after, as did the C-17, which came within a handful of feet from the end of the runway before stopping. He gave the pilot, Lieutenant Nixon, a mental pat on the back.

"I'm going out." Yamagata unbuckled himself from his seat. "You two stay here. Gov, radio everyone else to stay put. If this isn't on the up and up, I want you to get out of here."

"You got it, Ninja," McGovern replied.

Yamagata slipped out the boarding hatch and slung his M4 over his shoulder. He walked across the tarmac, eying the few administrative buildings and hangars that made up the airport. The parking lot contained a mix of civilian vehicles and military Humvees. His stomach quivered when he saw several armed men walking around the tarmac and the airport's perimeter. Some were military, a few police, and the rest civilians. No CEMCOR uniforms. That made him feel a little better.

Three men approached him, all wearing green-beige-slate blue pixel Airman Battle Uniforms. Two carried M4s. The third one, a stocky, round-faced man in his early thirties, just had a sidearm.

"Major Hudson, Nebraska Air National Guard." He stuck out his hand, which Yamagata shook. "I'm in charge of the airport."

"Major Yamagata, US Marine Corps. Flight leader, First Joint Special Combat Squadron."

"Well your unit's been in the news a lot, or what passes for news these days."

Yamagata stared past Major Hudson. He saw more guards approaching. There was also a SAW emplacement atop one of the admin buildings.

He also wondered how many other guards were out of view, maybe one with a sniper rifle trained on his head.

"I take it Zamora has control of all the networks."

Hudson nodded. "Well, some were lapdogs for him long before he went nuts. A lot of the ones that didn't go along with his takeover aren't broadcasting any more."

"And I take it you're not going along with him?" Yamagata gave Hudson a suspicious eye.

The Air Guard major gave a half-smile. "I guess you're worried we're just putting on a show and we're really working for Zamora."

"The thought did cross my mind, more than once."

"Well, I've had the same thought about you. You can't be too careful these days."

"No, you can't." Yamagata looked around again. The guards held their positions. He saw no vehicles speeding toward the Excaliburs and C-17. Another positive sign was the fact they hadn't asked him to hand over his M4 and pistol.

If this was a trap, they probably would have sprung it by now.

"I guess we have to start trusting one another sooner or later," said Yamagata. "Might as well make sooner."

He shook Hudson's hand again and went back to the planes to give his people the all clear. Hudson had an Air Guard second lieutenant lead them to a small restaurant adjacent to one of the admin buildings. Yamagata and Hudson remained on the tarmac, with Hudson admiring the Excaliburs.

"Beautiful aircraft," he said.

"Thanks. Beautiful and deadly."

"So how the hell did you get them back? Hell, how did you even get out of that prison camp?"

Yamagata ran down the story to Hudson. By the end, the major looked very, _very _impressed.

"So what about you?" asked Yamagata. "How did you wind up at North Platte? How did you wind up with your own F-16 squadron? The Nebraska Air Guard only flies Stratotankers."

"The Sixteens are courtesy of the South Dakota Air Guard," Hudson told him. "They've got their fighters deployed to airfields in three different states, including this one, so CEMCOR can't get them in one strike. A few Midwest and Southwestern states are in a sort of loose-knit alliance against President Zamora. We're still trying to work out all the details."

"What about CEMCOR?"

"Luckily they don't have as big a presence in Nebraska or South Dakota as in other states. Hell, they only had a couple dozen people stationed in North Platte. We took 'em out pretty easily, with the help of the local police and civilian volunteers."

"That's good to hear. We need secure places to operate from to hit back against Zamora and CEMCOR."

"Unfortunately, we really can't do much hitting back," said Hudson. "A lot of our resources are tied up in relief efforts in Omaha and Lincoln. Not just relief, but trying to get rid of any CEMCOR presence in those cities. We haven't had much of a chance to consider any offensive operations against Zamora's regime. Plus there's always the threat of Gigan to take into account."

"What if I told you Gigan is under Zamora's control?"

Hudson's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Yamagata explained the proof they had, and how that was probably the reason they wound up in a CEMCOR prison camp.

"Then it's a good thing your planes here," said Hudson. "They're probably the only things that can stop Gigan if he attacks Nebraska again."

"Actually, our best chance of stopping Gigan is stopping President Zamora," Yamagata told him. "And there's someone in Nebraska who might be able to help us do that."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	25. Chapter 25

Major Hudson had been right, Yamagata thought. CEMCOR did not have much of a presence in Nebraska.

Actually, their presence in this part of Nebraska was zero. The only things west of North Platte were a handful of highways and a couple of towns so small the bad guys wouldn't spare a squad to guard them.

Yamagata stared out the window of the Humvee loaned to him by Hudson. Hernandez drove while Nicole dozed in the back seat. The sun started coming up, revealing miles and miles of flat, empty terrain.

"Welcome to the middle of nowhere," Yamagata muttered.

Hernandez snorted. "I think there's more stuff in the middle of nowhere than there is here."

They drove into Arthur, and just as quickly drove through it. The town had a few tree-lined residential streets and cluster of old, farmhouse-style buildings that passed for a downtown. As soon as they left Arthur behind, the scenery went back to miles and miles of miles and miles.

Yamagata looked over his shoulder at the tiny town. This far removed from civilization, it would be easy to forget about cities burned to the ground by Gigan and a President who ruled the country with an iron fist.

But how long would that tranquility last? How long before some higher up at CEMCOR decided this little fly speck town needed attention? How long before gray-clad jackboots knocked down doors and dragged out people for owning guns or posting some anti-Zamora comment on Facebook?

"We're almost there," said Hernandez as he turned onto a dirt road. "Better wake up Captain Fox."

Yamagata tapped Nicole on the knee. She moaned and stirred.

"Are we in Arthur?"

"We were. You missed it. Then again, I blinked and I missed it."

"Ha-Ha." Nicole yawned.

They drove four more miles on the dirt road before Yamagata saw a one-story cabin made of dark wood sitting next to a small lake.

"Good God." Yamagata shook his head. "I'd go crazy if I lived out here." His hometown of Pullman, Washington may have only had 30,000 people, but it was a metropolis compared to this place.

Hernandez shrugged. "What can I say? Staff Sergeant Morton likes his privacy."

"There's privacy, and then there's isolation," said Nicole as she gazed out the window.

The Humvee rolled to a stop a few feet from the front porch. The trio got out.

The front door flew open.

"Hands up!" A man stood on the porch. Yamagata guessed him to be six-two and 200 pounds. A solid 200 pounds judging by the fit of his red flannel shirt and blue jeans. He had a thick gray beard and a main of gray hair that flowed past his shoulders.

He also had an M-16 pointed at them.

"Calm down, Staff Sergeant," Hernandez told him. "It's me."

The man's brow furrowed. "Hernandez?"

"Affirmative."

The man – obviously Morton – smiled and lowered his rifle. "Shit, what brings you here to God's Country?"

"It sure as hell ain't for a social call."

"I imagine not, especially with these two." Morton walked down the steps, slinging the M-16 over his shoulder. "Major Yamagata. Captain Fox."

"I guess our reputation precedes us." Yamagata shook hands with Morton.

"How about you're on Zamora's most wanted list. So are most of the people in your squadron. The news has been plastering your faces and bios all over the place."

Yamagata tightened his lips in a grim expression. He wondered if his parents and grandparents had seen the news. Even more worrisome, would CEMCOR arrest them because of him? What about his sister, Jade? Was she all right up in Alaska?

"So you need a place to hide?" asked Morton.

"No," replied Yamagata. "We're done with the fugitive life."

Morton grinned. "Sounds like I've got three more recruits for the resistance. Come on inside."

The ex-Secret Service agent led them up the steps, briefly catching up with Hernandez.

"Master Sergeant, huh? To think, I knew you when you were a dumbass airman. You sure as hell came a long way."

"Yes I did," said Hernandez. "Speaking of long, what the hell happened to your hair? You have heard of barbers, haven't you?"

Morton rubbed his gray mane. "I spent nearly thirty years in uniform or wearing a badge. I had to put up with regulations about hair length and being clean shaven. After I left the Secret Service and moved here, I decided if I wanted to grow my hair long, I damn well will, and there's no one to tell me otherwise."

The living room was simple, with a couch and a few chairs. No television, Yamagata noticed. A fire crackled in the fireplace, warming the interior. Deer and elk heads adorned the walls.

Morton took them down to the basement. More like a bunker from what Yamagata saw.

The place had cinderblock walls. Racks of computer equipment, which drew all of Nicole's attention and interest, lined one entire wall. Another wall had racks holding pistols, rifles and shotguns. Tables had been set up for laptops, radios and cell phones.

"Damn." Hernandez gaped at the scene. "You've been busy." He turned to Morton. "No way you could have done all this in a few days."

"You're right." Morton put his M-16 on one of the gun racks. "All the years I served on President Zamora's detail, I heard things from him and his staff. Their beliefs, the kinds of people they liked and hated, their vision for the country, what they really wanted the Civilian Emergency Mobilization Corps to become. The more I heard, the more afraid I got. When I left the Secret Service, I set up my own little command bunker and recruited a network of contacts just in case the shit hit the fan."

"Which it did," said Nicole. "Why didn't you tell the public about everything you heard? You could have prevented all this."

"How many people have been calling Zamora a dictator since he first took office? How many of them were considered nuts? I would have been just one more. Believe me, putting this up on a website wouldn't have changed a damn thing."

"So you formed a resistance group even before Zamora became a dictator," Yamagata stated.

"That I did. I even drew up a list of potential recruits, and by the way, Major, you're on it."

"Me?"

Morton nodded. "You command the most advanced fighters in the world. Your service record and your psyche evals show you likely wouldn't go along with any tyrannical actions by Zamora."

"There's no 'likely' about it," Yamagata informed him. "Especially after we were thrown into one of CEMCOR's prison camps."

"Point is, you'd make a valuable asset to a resistance movement, moreso if we can get your Excaliburs."

"You don't have to worry about that. We liberated them from CEMCOR. All three are sitting at North Platte Airport under camouflage."

A grin spread across Morton's face. "That is great news, Major. If Zamora sends any CEMCOR reinforcements to Nebraska, we stand a chance at stopping them."

"Honestly, Mister Morton, we've got our eyes on much bigger prizes than a few F-16s or jackboots in pick-up trucks," said Yamagata.

"And what would that be?"

"Gigan, along with President Zamora, which are actually one in the same."

Morton scrunched his face in puzzlement. "I don't follow."

It was Nicole who answered. "Just before we were arrested by CEMCOR, I picked up a signal directed at Gigan from Air Force One. It could have only been sent by The President, especially when you take into consideration that a few hours after we reported this to our CO, CEMCOR raided our base."

"I don't believe in coincidence," Hernandez added.

Morton let out a long breath and looked at the floor in thought. "I've seen some posts on the internet, people saying Zamora is controlling Gigan, using it to take over the country. I thought it was just more dumbass conspiracy theorists making shit up. If what you say is true, I guess they really know what they're talking about."

"It is true," said Yamagata. "And that's where we need your help. There's no way Zamora could have built a control device himself. Somebody helped him. The Secret Service is always with The President. You must know some of the people he met with, ones that would have the background to come up with a way to control Gigan."

Morton went over to the table holding his laptops. "I created a file on everyone who visited President Zamora my last three years on the job. I don't mean cabinet secretaries and his usual group of advisors. I kept tabs on non-politicos, people you wouldn't expect to have an audience with the President."

Morton scrolled up and down a few times, his head slightly turning left and right as he read. Several minutes passed before he turned to face the trio. "I think I've got your man."

Yamagata, Nicole and Hernandez stood behind him. On the screen was a photo of doughy, balding man with glasses.

"Darrell Howell," Nicole read the name aloud. "So what makes him our man?"

"Howell has a doctorate in biology from Princeton and a masters in computer science from Columbia, which is also where our 'esteemed leader' earned his masters."

"I take it they were buddies," said Yamagata.

Morton nodded. "They were members of three different left leaning student groups, one of which was the Social Awareness Coalition, run by Professor Oscar Ward, committed Marxist, atheist and tree-hugger."

"Sounds like this Ward guy might have been Zamora's mentor," Yamagata chimed in.

"You better believe it. I heard Zamora mention Ward's name plenty of times. He talked about him with the same reverence thirteen-year-old girls used to talk about that Justin Bieber douchebag."

"Anything more about Howell that makes him our favorite?" Nicole asked Morton.

"He worked at NASA for ten years in their xenobiology division."

"So he studied aliens," said Hernandez.

"That's right. Some of the projects he worked on involved studying skin and tissue samples collected after battles with Gigan and King Ghidorah."

"You used 'worked' in the past tense," Nicole pointed out. "I take it he's no longer there?"

"That's correct," Morton answered. "He started accusing NASA of covering up other extraterrestrial threats to the planet. Eventually they got fed up with him and canned his ass."

"What's he doing now?" asked Yamagata.

"Supposedly he's working for the Department of Agriculture. The problem is, when I checked that out, I found out that Howell's office phone number and email are bogus. There's also no record of him ever setting foot inside the department's headquarters, or any of its offices throughout the country."

"Sounds like a cover story to me," said Yamagata. "One Zamora could easily create."

"Now for the big one," Nicole spoke. "What's Howell's location?"

"His address is an apartment in Henderson, Nevada," said Morton. "But I'm guessing that's bogus, too. I do know that during my time on Zamora's detail, Howell met with him three times. Every time, he flew in from McCarran Airport in Vegas."

"So Howell probably has some secret base in Nevada he's working out of," Nicole theorized.

"Nevada's a good place for it," Yamagata added. "The federal government owns half the land in that state. It wouldn't be too difficult for Zamora to set aside some of it for his college buddy."

"Nevada's a big state," Hernandez pointed out. "It's gonna take some work to narrow down where Howell might be."

"That'll be your job, Master Sergeant," said Yamagata. "Yours and Nicole's. Find Howell, and find out everything you can about that control device."

Nicole nodded, with Hernandez saying, "You got it."

"So what's your job going to be, Major?" Morton turned to him.

"Oh, I have the easiest job of all. I'm taking my flight to the Arctic Circle to free Godzilla."

Morton's eyes widened. An expression somewhere between amazement and disbelief formed on his face. "I thought Godzilla was dead."

"He might be, but given all the punishment he's taken from other monsters in the past, I doubt it. Even if he is alive, he's buried under thousands of tons of ice."

"Meaning it's going to take more than a shovel to dig him out," said Morton.

"You got that right."

"So what did you have in mind?"

Yamagata hesitated before answering. "Nukes."

"Nukes?" Morton blurted. "Shit, you don't think small, do you?"

"They're the only things we have that can melt all that ice."

"And vaporize Godzilla in the process."

"Not necessarily." Nicole shook her head. "Remember, Godzilla was created from nuclear testing. Where radiation destroys most organisms, Godzilla thrives on it. He's basically a living nuclear reactor."

"There are other factors to consider." Morton leaned back in his chair. "You set off nukes at the North Pole, every nuclear power in the world is going to freak out. The Russians, especially, since it's almost in their backyard. Someone might get so scared they actually launch nukes of their own. Even if they don't, you still have fallout. Who knows how far that will spread? The environmentalists are sure to raise hell over that."

Yamagata snorted. "The environmentalists can kiss my ass. As for making our 'friends' in the nuclear club nervous, given what's at stake in this country, I'm willing to take that chance."

"And we may not have to worry about fallout," said Nicole. "Godzilla can absorb radiation. Setting off those bombs might actually help him heal."

"And then you think he's automatically going to go after Gigan?" Morton looked doubtful.

Nicole responded, "You know how salmon can return to the exact place of their birth? Godzilla seems to have a natural instinct to track down other giant monsters, especially ones that threaten the human race. If we can free him, he'll find Gigan."

"It's a big if, though," Hernandez added. "First we have to somehow get our hands on a couple of nukes."

Morton folded his arms and slowly turned side-to-side in his chair. After about a minute, he turned back to his computer. "I think I can get you your bombs."

"Seriously?" Nicole's voice went up an octave in surprise.

Morton just grinned. "I know people. I'll see what I can do."

Yamagata watched Morton work his secure computers and burn phones, wondering if the scruffy, former Secret Service agent could actually deliver on his promise.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	26. Chapter 26

Morton delivered.

Yamagata watched as 1st JSCS groundcrew unloaded two lead-lined cases from the back of a moving truck with fake CEMCOR logos on the doors. They opened the cases, revealing two slender, bullet-shaped B61 nuclear bombs. Weight, 700 pounds. Yield, variable. The bomb could be set as low as 0.3 kilotons, enough to wipe out a few city blocks, or as high as 340 kilotons, enough to wipe out the entire city of Pierre, South Dakota.

"How did you get these bombs?" Ashby stared at the cases in amazement.

"It's better if you don't know," replied Morton. "That way if you're captured, you can't tell CEMCOR."

Yamagata nodded. That made sense. Besides, how Morton got the bombs didn't matter. All that mattered was he got them, period.

He turned to Ashby. "So what do you think? How much yield do we need?" Ashby had flown F-22s before transferring to the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron. Those fighters had been designed to drop B61s, and Ashby received extensive training on the weapon.

The Air Force lieutenant rubbed his chin as he gazed at the bombs. "From all the photos we have of Godzilla's burial site, I think about two hundred kilotons each should do the trick."

"Okay. Set the yield. Pryor." Yamagata turned to the crew chief for his Excalibur. "As soon as Lieutenant Ashby has those bombs ready, get them loaded on our planes. We've got about four hours before it gets dark. I want us in the air the moment the sun goes down."

"We'll have you ready long before then, Major."

"It's going to be a long flight," said Morton. "How are you set for fuel?"

"There are some small airfields throughout Canada we can steal avgas from."

"What about the airport staff?"

"Small enough we can handle them ourselves," Yamagata told him. "Our big challenge is going to be flying across Canada without being detected."

Morton's face scrunched in puzzlement. "I thought the Excaliburs were stealth."

"They are." It was Ashby who answered. "But our internal weapons bays house the rotary launcher for our plasma-yield missiles. We don't have room to put the nukes in there. We have to hang them from the underbelly. That's going to compromise our stealth profile."

"It's also going to piss off the Canadians if they pick you up in their airspace," said Morton.

"Then I'll apologize profusely," Yamagata responded. "But north through Canada is the quickest way to get to the Arctic."

"And if the Canadian air force intercepts you?"

"We run and evade. We've got enough problems in this country with a civil war going on. We don't need to add to them by firing on aircraft from another country, especially an ally."

That seemed to satisfy Morton.

Yamagata left Ashby and the groundcrew to their work. He headed to the terminal, a large, modern building with lots of curves and overhangs to protect passengers from snow and rain. It looked somewhat out of place at the Pierre Regional Airport in the middle of South Dakota. The city it was named after maybe had 14,000 people. Most of the planes here were single-engine propeller, with a few small two-prop passenger planes. It was also the squadron's twelfth different base in as many days. Yamagata was determined to keep them moving about the relatively secure northwestern states so CEMCOR couldn't pin down their position. So far it worked. Zamora's gray-clad goosesteppers hadn't launched any attacks against them. But Yamagata felt his luck wouldn't hold forever. The regime wanted him and the rest of the squadron. They also wanted the MF-3 Excaliburs. Sooner or later, The President would send CEMCOR here to get them.

_Or he'll just send Gigan to take us out._

Zamora had already used his pet alien to level Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Bismarck, North Dakota, Helena and Butte in Montana, and Cheyenne, Wyoming to punish those states in rebellion. It had been the hardest thing in Yamagata's life to sit on his ass while the monster wrecked those cities and killed untold thousands. Fighting monsters was his duty, and he had been derelict in that duty.

He tried to convince himself it was for the greater good. He couldn't risk exposing the squadron before their mission to free Godzilla, a mission that could be a game changer in this civil war.

_That's little comfort to the survivors in those cities, and the families of the dead._

Yamagata closed his eyes, trying to force the thoughts from his mind. He didn't have time for guilt and regret. All his focus had to be on the mission.

First thing he did was check the weather. Everything looked clear until Hudson Bay. A storm front was moving down from the north, dumping snow throughout the provinces of Nunavut, the Northwest Territories, Manitoba and Saskatchewan.

"That's gonna be fun," Yamagata muttered under his breath. _But that's why they pay me the big bucks._

Scratch that. He was a fugitive from the federal government. They weren't paying him dick any more.

Next he went to his Excalibur and performed the pre-flight checklist with McGovern and Caputo. By the time they were done, Ashby had the bombs set to the appropriate yield. The groundcrew loaded them onto Yamagata's and Ashby's Excaliburs. Sharpe's aircraft would act as their one-plane escort in case they ran into trouble. With nothing else to do but wait until sunset, the squadron members headed to the airport cafeteria. Many of them ate in silence, Yamagata included. He tried to concentrate on the mission, but his thoughts strayed to Nicole. She, Hernandez and the Security Forces troopers had set out for Nevada seven days ago. He hadn't heard from them since. He didn't expect to. They were to maintain communications silence until they located Darrell Howell. Yamagata had no idea if they were okay, if they had been captured by CEMCOR, if . . .

All he could do was pray for Nicole, and for the others, and hoped they found Howell.

The air crews made one final trip to the bathroom before heading to their planes. They were strapped in, engines whining, just as the last rays of the sun vanished.

The Excaliburs roared into the night. They kept low to the ground, hoping to get lost in the ground clutter. Yamagata's flight plan took them over the least populated areas of the Dakotas and Canada on their way to the Arctic. He hoped it would be enough to avoid detection.

"So . . ." McGovern looked to Yamagata, then Caputo. "How about a round of Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"

"Sir, it's over three thousand miles to the Artic," said Caputo.

"Okay. How about a round of Ninety-nine _Thousand _Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"

Despite all his stress and worry, Yamagata wound up laughing.

**XXXXX**

Tim Gooden, Professor of Political Science at the University of North Dakota, and CEMCOR volunteer, stood on the side of US 85 taking a piss. It had been a long drive already, and he still had twenty more miles to go to their target.

_Watford City. _He tried not to sneer at his assignment. It proved hard to do. Watford City, located on the edge of the Badlands, was a nothing town with just over 1,800 people. CEMCOR had assigned him and three other volunteers the task of spying on the town for a future assault.

_A town like that isn't worth our time. _Gooden wanted to be in on a bigger assignment. He wanted to be with the groups that rounded up gun owners, so-called patriot organizations and the oil workers and executives that raped North Dakota's pristine land. He had preached about the evils of capitalism and individual liberty, aka selfishness, to his students for years. Some had listened, some just went along with it to get a good grade and move on to another class, a few mouth-breathers actually challenged his views. When he tried to browbeat them, they talked about The Constitution and freedom of speech. As if a document written by white bible-thumping slave owners had any relevance in today's society. When browbeating didn't shut them up, failing grades did. A handful continued to resist him, to shun the idea of the collective. All people working for the common goal of equality, justice and the health of the planet. There was no room for any who strayed from that path.

Gooden smiled. He had a list of those slobbering, meat-eating racists who'd dared stand up to him in class. They would pay. Oh yes, they would pay.

He zipped up and headed back to his pickup truck. The other members of his team climbed into the bed. He tried not to be upset at his mission. CEMCOR obviously thought it was important, which meant President Zamora thought it was important. Who was he to question such a great, enlightened man?

Gooden reached out for the door handle when he heard a rumble to the east. He paused, staring into the night sky.

"Is that thunder?" asked one of the men in the bed.

"I don't know." It didn't sound like thunder. Thunder only lasted a few seconds. This rumble continued. In fact, it got louder and louder, to the point Gooden grimaced and covered his ears.

Three objects screamed overhead. Gooden let out a cry and fell on his back. He glimpsed one of the objects. He was by no means an expert on military aircraft. Why would he be interested in instruments of death and oppression and the Cro-Magnons that used them?

Still, he recognized these planes. Probably everyone on the planet could recognize these planes.

Once Gooden got to his feet, and his ears stopped ringing, he got out his cell phone and called the office of the CEMCOR state director in Fargo.

"This is Professor Gooden. I'm a few miles south of Watford City. The Excaliburs just flew over me."

**XXXXX**

WARNING: YOU ARE APPROACHING CANADIAN AIRSPACE.

The bright red words flashed through Yamagata's helmet mounted display. He disregarded the message from the flight computer, instead scanning the skies through his helmet's night vision mode. All clear. They hadn't run into any other aircraft during the first 400-plus miles of their journey. Yamagata hoped it would remain that way for the remaining 2,600-plus miles.

He checked the GPS. The Canadian border was less than two minutes away. Again he scanned the sky. He did that often. Along with radio silence, the flight also observed radar silence. Radar signals could be picked up by CEMCOR or the Canadians. All they had to detect any threats were their radar warning receivers and their Mark One Eyeballs. Not the most efficient of ways to give one advanced warning, but they needed to do everything possible to stay hidden.

WARNING: YOU HAVE CROSSED INTO CANADIAN AIRSPACE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION. TURN BACK IMMEDIATELY.

Again, Yamagata disregarded the message. He kept the nose of his Excalibur pointed north, flying over the desolate prairies of southern Saskatchewan. He could feel the tension running up and down his muscles. Yamagata kept watching the skies, half-expecting to see the entire Royal Canadian Air Force descend upon him.

He saw no planes as the flight continued deeper into Canada.

A series of beeps came from Caputo's console.

"I'm picking up a search radar. X-band." Caputo paused for several seconds. "Signal identified. AN/APG-70 pulse-Doppler radar. Looks like we've got two F-15s in the vicinity . . . scratch that. Four, repeat, for F-15s."

"Holy crap," blurted McGovern. "Are they going to violate Canadian airspace to get us?"

"Looks that way."

Yamagata resisted the urge to contact the other Excaliburs. They'd already talked about what to do if confronted by American jets under Zamora's control. Sharpe would fight them off while he and Ashby continued north. He didn't like leaving Sharpe alone in a fight, but delivering these bombs to the Arctic was their number one priority.

"Any sign the Eagles detected us?" asked McGovern.

Caputo shook his head. "I can't say for certain. I think they're just doing random radar sweeps. But if they have LANTIRN pods, the might pick us up on their infrared scanners."

"Great," Yamagata grumbled. They were barely fifty miles inside Canada and things were going to crap.

"Beastmasters. Beastmasters. This is Redhawk," one of the F-15 pilots radioed. "We know you are out there. You are wanted by the United States Government on a host of charges, and you have violated the airspace of a sovereign nation. I am giving you one minute to reveal your positions and return with us to American airspace, otherwise, you will be fired upon. Respond. Over."

"Like hell." The last thing Yamagata was going to do was turn on his radio and give away his position.

Instead he dropped lower to the ground. He checked the rear camera. Sharpe and Ashby did the same, though any minute he expected Sharpe to break off and engage the F-15s.

"Beastmasters, this is Redhawk. Your minute is up. Prepare to be fired upon."

"Prepare to kiss my ass," Yamagata said to himself.

Streaks of yellow flew past him. Tracers from 20mm rounds.

"Caputo," he turned to the sensor specialist. "I think they picked us up on IR."

"Um, I think you're right, Sir."

Yamagata continued flying north. So did Ashby. Sharpe's Excalibur turned as more tracers zipped past them.

"I've got a new set of radar signals," Caputo reported. "Identified as AN/APG-73. They have to be Canadian CF-18s."

"Aw, great," McGovern grumbled. "Everyone wants a piece of us."

Yamagata kept flying, not even trying to jink. That was much too dangerous at this low altitude. Besides, unless the F-15s got a Golden BB – aka a lucky hit on a vital part of the aircraft - their 20mm rounds could do nothing to the Excalibur's hull.

He prayed hard for no Golden BBs.

More tracers zipped past them. Yamagata no longer saw Sharpe's Excalibur in the rear camera. He was probably off to deal with the F-15s.

A new voice came over the radio.

"Attention American F-15s. This is Nighthawk, flight of two CF-18s, Royal Canadian Air Force."

Yamagata noted how the pilot specifically mentioned F-15s. He guessed the Canadians hadn't picked them up on radar.

Nighthawk continued. "You have violated Canadian airspace. Return to your side of the border now."

"Nighthawk, this is Redhawk. We are in pursuit of criminal elements of the United States military who have hijacked advanced aircraft. We have been ordered to pursue, and either capture them or shoot them down."

"Then do it over your country, not ours. Return to US airspace or risk being fired upon."

Yamagata increased his air speed. The longer the two squadrons continued their pissing contest, the more distance he could put between them.

"Nighthawk, we have our orders."

"And we have ours. Turn around and return to America. This is your final warning."

Yamagata held his breath, waiting for the response. Would the F-15s actually fire on the Canadian fighters? Would Zamora risk a potential conflict with Canada just to get their Excaliburs?

_He controls Gigan. Why should he be worried about Canada, or any other country?_

"Redhawk Three to all aircraft," said the F-15 flight leader. "Disengage. I say again, disengage and return to American airspace."

Yamagata let out a sigh of relief.

"A wise choice, Redhawk," said Nighthawk. "Have a nice day, and don't come back."

Yamagata and Ashby maintained their course north. Sharpe fell back into formation a couple of minutes later. The CF-18s did several radar sweeps, but there was nothing to indicate they spotted the Excaliburs.

"Three cheers for our neighbors to the north." McGovern pumped his fist.

"Don't be too enthusiastic," said Yamagata. "If the Canadians do spot us, I don't think they'll be very understanding."

"Well here's hoping they don't spot us."

"Yeah, here's hoping."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	27. Chapter 27

Yamagata felt unbridled joy when he saw the runway lights at Barker VC Airport just outside Dauphin, Manitoba.

More accurately, he barely saw the lights.

Snow blasted across his windscreen. It wasn't exactly zero visibility, but damn close to it. Wind shear from the nearby Riding Mountain made it a chore to keep the Excalibur flying straight.

All in all, he'd give it a Sphincter Factor of eight. Maybe eight-and-a-half.

"I'm starting to think we should've stayed home tonight," said McGovern as he stared out at the driving snowstorm.

"I've been through worse." _Though not much worse._

Yamagata's eyes flickered between the runway and his instruments, especially the altimeter and air speed indicator. Both continued to decrease. Wind shear shook the aircraft. He fought to keep the nose between the two rows of lights, nearly blotted out by the snow.

Four hundred feet to go. Three hundred. Two hundred. The lights reflected off the snow sitting on the runway. Apparently no one had plowed the damn thing. Maybe they had shut the airport down because of the storm.

Just seconds remained before touchdown. He had to get . . . this . . . just . . . right.

The wheels bumped on the asphalt. Yamagata applied the brakes.

The Excalibur skidded left.

Yamagata righted the aircraft. He applied the brakes, backed off, applied the brakes, backed off. The main runway of Barker Airport was 5,002 feet in length. Yamagata needed every single foot of it to bring the Excalibur to a stop.

Ashby landed next, followed by Sharpe. Both pilots came close to skidding off the runway, but corrected themselves. The three taxied their jets to the tarmac and shut off the engines.

"Let's go." Yamagata unbuckled himself from his seat. "Bring the shotguns."

He, McGovern and Caputo put on their parkas and gloves, then grabbed the shotguns loaned to them by the Pierre Police Department. As soon as they exited their plane, the door to the terminal opened. A stocky man in a heavy coat strode toward them. The airport's night supervisor, Yamagata assumed.

"Are you guys crazy landing weather like this? Didn't you know we had to shut down the airport? Why didn't you -"

Yamagata brought up the shotgun and racked it. "Hands up!"

The supervisor stopped and threw up his arms. "Whoa. Whoa. Take it easy."

"Gov, secure him. I'll cover you."

Yamagata advanced, shotgun raised. Gov got behind the supervisor and bound his wrists with plastic flexicuffs.

"What's your name?" asked Yamagata.

"St-Stewart. Stewart Hotham."

"You in charge here, Stewart?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded.

"How many people are here?"

"Five, including me. Two in the tower, two maintenance men."

Yamagata told Sharpe, Essian and Dillard to secure the rest of the airport staff. They did so without incident. The four then took the staff into the terminal and put them in an office.

"Look, just take what you want," Stewart pleaded. "Just don't hurt us, please."

"We are going to take what we want, and we won't hurt you. Just stay in here, don't cause any trouble, and we'll be gone soon."

Yamagata closed the door and locked it. He hurried outside with the others. The refueling truck rolled through the snow toward the planes, Caputo at the wheel.

They topped off the Excaliburs without any problems. Five minutes later, Yamagata's jet roared down the snowy runway and lifted into the air. Sharpe's plane followed, then Ashby's.

"Well, that went smoothly," said McGovern.

"Except for the landing in a snowstorm part," replied Yamagata.

"Hey, we didn't crash and explode and spread radiation all over Manitoba. I'd call that going smoothly."

Yamagata nodded and glanced back at Barker VC Airport. He felt bad leaving Stewart and his staff cuffed and locked in that office. But they weren't harmed, and they'd be discovered when the morning shift came in.

By that time the Beastmasters wouldn't even by in Canada any more.

The snowstorm let up as they flew into the province of Nunavut. Part of Yamagata was relieved, another part, though, knew a nighttime snowstorm would make it hard for any RCAF fighter patrol to visually acquire them.

Still, he wasn't going to complain too much. Flying in lousy weather not only sucked, but could be fatal.

They made it to their second refueling point undetected. Rankin Inlet Airport, another small airfield with not much activity this time of night and a small staff. As with Barker VC Airport, Yamagata and his men secured Rankin Inlet with little trouble. They refueled their Excaliburs and continued north.

It was well after midnight when they crossed over Baffin Island. Yamagata felt his eyes burn with tiredness. He took a tiny bottle of Tabasco Sauce from an MRE and put a few drops in each eye.

Now his eyes _really _burned, but it would help keep him awake until their next refueling point.

Yamagata forgot about his tiredness when he saw the lights for Pond Inlet Airport. All his focus was on putting the Excalibur down on that little 4,000-foot runway.

The landing went well. Sharpe and Ashby also touched down with no trouble. They put on their parkas, grabbed their shotguns and got out of their aircraft. Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo headed over to the boxy, orange building with a control tower on top. They got within twenty feet of the glass doors when they opened. A dark-haired woman with a medium build and a stern face emerged.

"We weren't expecting . . ." Her eyes bulged, aimed at Yamagata's shotgun.

"Hands up, Ma'am."

The woman stood there, frozen.

"Ma'am." Yamagata raised his shotgun. "Please put your hands over your head."

She still didn't move.

"Ma'am, I won't ask again."

The woman remained a statue. Then she screamed. Loud. Very, very loud.

"Crap." Yamagata rushed toward her. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, still clutching the shotgun. He clamped his right hand over her mouth. She tried to scream through it.

"Ma'am, you have to -"

Someone else came through the door. A stout middle-aged man in a heavy blue coat.

"Katie, what's wro-" The man gaped at Yamagata and the woman, Katie.

That's when Yamagata noticed a holster on the man's hip.

"RCMP!" He went for his pistol. "Get off her -"

McGovern fired his shotgun. The man collapsed. The woman cried and tried to struggle.

"Caputo, cover her." He gently shoved Katie aside and dropped beside the man. He glimpsed a patch on the sleeve of the coat with a bison flanked by gold maple leaves and a red crown. The banner beneath it read ROYAL CANADIAN MOUNTED POLICE.

"You killed him!" Katie screamed and stepped toward him. Caputo put a hand on her shoulder. "You bastards, you killed him!"

"We didn't kill him, Ma'am." Yamagata removed the Mountie's pistol, ejected the magazine and tossed it aside.

"You shot him! You shot him!" The woman trembled and sobbed.

"He all right?" McGovern jogged over to them.

They both looked down at the Mountie. He groaned and held his left side.

"Yeah, he'll be fine."

Yamagata rolled the Mountie on his stomach and cuffed him.

"Son-of-a-bitch," the Mountie groaned.

"Dan?" Katie's voice cracked.

"Like I said, he's fine," Yamagata told her. "We hit him with a beanbag round. It's designed to incapacitate, not kill. It hurts like hell, but he'll be fine."

Yamagata had insisted on using less-lethal ammunition for this operation. There was no way in hell he would kill innocent Canadian civilians to get fuel.

Yamagata and McGovern got the Mountie, Dan, to his feet and helped him inside. Caputo followed them with Katie. Yamagata noticed a sofa in the small passenger waiting area with the cushions askew and a couple of blankets on the floor. He had an idea what Katie and Dan had been doing before their planes landed. Then again, it was early morning at a tiny airport in the ass end of nowhere. What else could you do to kill time?

"You know how much trouble you're in for assaulting an RCMP officer?" The pain was evident in Dan's voice.

"Heh! That's tame compared to everything else we've done," Yamagata responded.

They locked Katie and Dan in an office, then rounded up the rest of the airport staff, an air traffic controller and a maintenance man. Once again, the refueling operation went off without a problem. They boarded their Excaliburs and continued north.

Their next refueling point worried Yamagata the most. It was in Alert, located in the northernmost part of the Queen Elizabeth Islands.

The airfield was operated by the Canadian Forces.

All their intel on CFS Alert showed the base served as a signals intercept facility and emergency airfield. Roughly 40 personnel were stationed there, a mix of military and civilian contractors. No dedicated combat personnel.

That worked in the Beastmasters' favor. Most of Alert's personnel were asleep when they landed. The handful of men on duty were easily detained. Yamagata then had Sharpe point his Excalibur at a bulldozer sitting by the runway. The GAU-8 cannons shredded it.

"Just in case anyone had any funny ideas." Yamagata jerked his thumb to the flaming wreckage of the dozer.

They locked the prisoners in their barracks. Once the Beastmasters topped off their tanks, they took off and continued their journey north.

Alert was the last sign of civilization – such as it was – they'd see. All Yamagata saw before him was ice. Miles and miles and miles of ice. In all his years of flying, Yamagata couldn't remember ever being over someplace so desolate.

That desolation was broken up by a jagged, white mound in the distance.

"That's it." McGovern pointed. "That's where Godzilla's buried."

For the first time since they took off from Pierre, Yamagata switched on the radio.

"Beastmaster One to flight. Target in sight. Two, fly cover. Three, commence bomb run."

"Two, roger," said Sharpe.

"Three, roger," said Ashby.

"Gov, you have the plane," Yamagata told him.

"I have the plane. Climb to angels thirty-five."

"Climbing to angels thirty-five." Yamagata pulled back on the stick. The Excalibur rose to an altitude of 35,000 feet.

McGovern armed the bomb and called out course corrections.

"Coming up on ten seconds to drop," he announced.

"Coming up on ten seconds to drop, roger," radioed Lieutenant Pena, Ashby's WSO.

"Drop in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Pickle! Pickle! Pickle!"

Yamagata felt the Excalibur rise as the nuke fell away from the belly.

"Bombs away!" McGovern called out.

"Bombs away!" said Pena.

"Let's get the hell outta Dodge." Yamagata put the Excalibur into a hard left turn. He pushed the engines to full military power and sped through the night sky. He checked the rear camera. Sharpe and Ashby were right behind him. A digital countdown appeared in Yamagata's HMD. :40 . . . :30 . . . :20 . . . :10.

"Everyone brace for shockwave."

:05 . . . :04 . . . :03 . . . :02 . . . :01.

Two brilliant flashes overwhelmed the rear camera. Seconds later, the shockwave reached them. Yamagata's Excalibur shuddered. He maintained control of the aircraft.

Yamagata wheeled the Excalibur around. He looked left. Two mushroom clouds rose over the bleak Arctic landscape. He kept his ears open for the warning buzz of the Excalibur's radiation detector. It remained silent.

He hoped it stayed that way.

The three Excaliburs flew in a racetrack pattern, scanning ground zero. No one saw any sign of Godzilla. It was hard to see anything through the billowing smoke.

Five minutes passed. The clouds started to lose their mushroom shape. Godzilla still hadn't appeared. Maybe the monster had been killed by Gigan. Maybe he actually killed Godzilla.

_Please don't tell me we flew all this way to screw up our own plan._

"Beastmaster Three," radioed Ashby. "I'm picking up a glow in the target area."

Yamagata looked. Through his night vision, he saw a bright glow amidst the radioactive clouds.

Suddenly a stream of flame shot through the clouds and into the darkened sky.

"Well that's a good sign," said McGovern.

Minutes later, an enormous, reptilian form stomped out of the clouds. Godzilla reared back and opened his maw, letting out a roar.

Yamagata smiled, "Welcome back, big guy."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	28. Chapter 28

"Finally."

Joy and relief tinged Nicole's voice as she looked down from her hillside perch at the cave a mile away. Between her and their objective was nothing but sand and desert shrubs. The mountains of the Pahranagat Range stretched in the distance.

It had taken six days to find the place. Unlike Nebraska and South Dakota, Nevada residents appeared split on their support of President Zamora's heavy-handed martial law. It didn't hurt that Gigan had not attacked this state. Then again, Zamora's VP had carried Nevada in the last election. That meant Nicole and the rest of the 1st JSCS had to proceed carefully here.

They started by staking out Darrell Howell's apartment in Henderson. After sitting on it for two days without a sighting, they moved on to McCarran Airport, North Las Vegas Airport and Henderson Executive Airport, in the event Howell flew to whatever super secret base Zamora had built for him.

Again, the stakeout had lasted two days. Again, they came up with squat.

That was when they decided to take a chance. Master Sergeant Hernandez contacted a long-time friend from the Security Forces now stationed at Nellis Air Force Base. Despite Hernandez's reassurances, Nicole had been more than a little reluctant to do this. Maybe this friend was following Zamora's orders out of a sense of duty. Maybe he actually believed what the SOB was spewing.

But they had to find Howell, and that meant taking a risk.

The risk paid off. They made contact with Hernandez's friend, Technical Sergeant Judd, at his off-base apartment. It turned out Judd despised everything Zamora and CEMCOR were doing.

"Three days ago those CEMCOR thugs came to the base and arrested our chaplains," Judd told them. "Accused them of using their religious views to encourage airmen to disobey The President's orders. That's a bold-faced lie. In fact, Zamora's been working to keep service members from expressing their Christian beliefs since he took office. It's to the point me and some other Christians are hiding our Bibles, just in case."

Nicole shook her head. She'd never been particularly religious, but had gone to chaplains a couple of times during her Air Force career. Mainly it had been to just talk to someone about whatever had been troubling her. She found that chaplains made pretty good counselors, regardless of their denomination.

_Welcome to the New Zamora Order, where just being a Christian is a crime._

Judd also informed them that Nellis had been put on alert a few days ago when NORAD detected two nuclear detonations in the Arctic. No surprise, Russia, China and the other nuclear powers had also put their forces on alert, with the Russians and Chinese blaming the US for the explosions. Zamora assured them he had nothing to do with it, that he abhorred nuclear weapons. That defused tensions, somewhat.

A warm feeling surged through Nicole's chest. Jeff had accomplished his mission. He was all right. At least, she hoped he was still all right.

She closed her eyes, picturing his face, imagining his arms wrapped around her.

_Please be safe, wherever you are._

Nicole refocused on the cave. She and Hernandez had learned from Judd that supply trucks had been going from Nellis to some secret installation near Alamo, 90 some miles north of Vegas, every week since he'd been assigned there. Hernandez's hunch had born fruit.

"Every base needs supplies to keep it going," he'd told her. "We find the supply line, we find the base."

That's how the 1st JSCS came to be on this hill in the middle of the desert. Hernandez had followed ruts in the sand, molded by several years of regular travel, to the cave before them. Somewhere inside it was Darrell Howell, and inside his head was the key to neutralizing Zamora's ultimate weapon.

Nicole and the other 1st JSCS personnel watched the cave all day. Except for a few jackrabbits and coyotes that hopped and trotted by, they saw nothing. No enemy patrols, no security cameras, no sentries. Then again, those sorts of security measures tended to attract attention instead of maintaining secrecy. Area 51 was a perfect example of that.

When night fell, Hernandez picked three other SF men, Maxvill, Guzman and Nash, to recon the cave.

"If we're not back by 0300, you assault that base and get Howell," Hernandez told her.

"You got it, Master Sergeant." Nicole tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice.

The SF team crept out of the rocks and made their way toward the cave. It wasn't long before the darkness swallowed them up.

Nicole wrapped her jacket tighter around her, trying to fend off the cold. She found her breaths coming quicker than normal. The last thing she wanted was to attack that cave without Hernandez. Sure, she had other Security Forces men with her. But none of them had the experience, or filled her with the sort of confidence, that Hernandez did. Until the CEMCOR attack on Richards-Gebaur, her only combat experience had been with World of Warcraft and other online games. Obviously that had done nothing to prepare her for bullets flying around her, or dealing with the fear that the real world came with no extra lives. Dead was dead, period. She had no desire to die before her 30th birthday.

She glanced at the other 1st JSCS personnel around her. She tightened her face, trying to keep any sign of fear or worry from showing. She may not be a combat officer, but she was still an officer. The men and women around her looked to her for leadership and confidence.

She at least had the foresight to put together a sentry rotation. Six people on duty for one hour before the next watch took over. Just to set a good example, she was one of the six who took the first watch.

The hour passed uneventfully. When Nicole was relieved, she curled up beside a rock and went to sleep. Or tried to. The ground was hard and cold, making it impossible to get comfortable. What she wouldn't give for a nice soft bed with thick blankets to curl up under.

And with Jeff beside her.

It took a while, but Nicole finally managed to drift off to sleep.

Then someone shook her awake.

"What?" She sat up with a start.

"Easy, Captain."

Relief flooded her when she saw Master Sergeant Hernandez staring back at her.

"Am I glad to see you. So what did you find out?"

"It doesn't look like they have any security cameras or sensors outside the cave," Hernandez answered. "Inside is another matter. We spotted three cameras, along with a steel door."

"How thick?"

"Like we'd need a shitload of C4 to get through it thick."

Nicole snorted. "Terrific. So how do we get inside?"

Hernandez laid out his plan. It sounded desperate and crazy. Then again, all their plans since breaking out of the CEMCOR prison camp had been desperate and crazy. Why break that streak now?

They spent all morning and all afternoon hiding amongst the rocks. Again, they saw no enemy patrols. They didn't see much of anything, period. Nicole tried to maintain her vigilance, to keep an eye out for the way into the cave Hernandez had suggested. But as minutes and hours passed with nothing happening, her mind wandered. Were her mother, step-father and two brothers all right? Was Jeff all right? Had Gigan attacked any more cities? Man, she would love a pizza with pineapple and Canadian Bacon and a large root beer float right now. She'd also love a shower as well. She must stink to high Heaven. At least it wasn't summer, then the temperature would be well over 100 degrees. She'd be drenched with sweat.

_And probably keel over from dehydration._

Night fell. So did the temperature. How long would they have to wait here? What if they were discovered? Jeff and his men were counting on them. Hell, the whole country was counting on them. She couldn't –

"I've got movement," reported Maxvill.

Nicole scrambled over to him, as did Hernandez.

"What is it?" she asked.

Maxvill continued staring through his night vision binoculars. "Four deuce-and-a-halfs, about five miles away."

Nicole peered out at the darkness. Deuce-and-a-half was the nickname for the M35 series of 6-wheeled cargo trucks the US military had used since the 1950s.

"I don't see any headlights."

"The drivers are probably using NVGs," said Hernandez. "Out here you can see headlights for miles. These guys are big into not attracting attention."

He quickly assembled his assault team. Maxvill, Guzman, Nash and two other SF men.

"I don't know if our radios will work once were inside the cave," Hernandez told Nicole. "But if you hear gunfire, come runnin' and bring the cavalry with you."

"You got it, Master Sergeant."

The SF team slipped away. Nicole watched them through her own night vision binoculars. They would crawl a bit, then run in short spurts. Crawl and run, crawl and run. The trucks were less than a half-mile away when Hernandez's team finally reached the dirt road.

The convoy stopped close to the cave entrance. Seconds later light poured out of the mouth, growing brighter by the second.

Someone had opened the steel door inside the cave.

Nicole turned back to the last truck. Hernandez and the other SF troopers scrambled to their feet and climbed into the back.

_God, I hope this works._

Two men emerged from the cave. Both carried automatic rifles and were dressed in CEMCOR fatigues. They chatted with the driver of the lead truck for half-a-minute, then waved him forward.

_This is it. _Nicole's heart pounded. She swallowed as she watched one truck after another enter the cave.

_Please be careful, _she sent her thoughts to Hernandez and his men.

Time seemed to slow once the last truck disappeared from view. Nicole stared at the cave. Her grip on the binoculars tightened. No sound came from the cave save for the faint rumble of truck engines. She both hoped for and dreaded hearing the sound of gunfire.

One second after another ticked by. Still nothing happened. What was Hernandez waiting for? What if he'd been captured, or ki-

Sharp, rapid cracks burst from the cave.

"Okay, everyone. Let's go!"

Nicole grabbed her M4 and hurried away from the rocky outcropping she'd used for cover. The rest of the 1st JSCS followed her down the hill. She kept her eyes on the cave, half-expecting a CEMCOR sentry to pop out.

Crap! Did she have the safety off on her M4? She fingered the side of the carbine.

The safety was still on.

_Dammit! Stupid! _She flipped off the safety. That would have been embarrassing to go into combat and not have her gun fire.

Actually, it could have been fatal.

Nicole started breathing harder. Her legs tightened. She thought she'd do better than this. She spent at least 40 minutes a day on the treadmill, along with taking a Pilates class. But she did those things carrying nothing heavier than a water bottle and an iPod. It was much different out here lugging a weapon and other gear, and running on uneven terrain.

She made it to the cave mouth and fell against the side. She gulped down lungfuls of air.

_No time to recoup. Move!_

M4 up, Nicole hurried into the cave. Several other 1st JSCS personnel followed. The trucks were parked in a neat row down the middle of the cave. Four CEMCOR troopers lay on the ground, unmoving and covered in blood.

She also saw Airman Nash on his back, the top of his head blown off.

Nicole grimaced. Her stomach churned. She forced herself to look away.

That's when she noticed the cave getting darker. She stared past the trucks.

The steel door was descending.

"Shit! Move!"

Nicole took off for the door. The opening grew narrower by the second. She judged she maybe had eight feet of clearance left.

Seven . . . Six . . . Five . . .

Nicole threw herself on the ground and rolled. Her shoulder brushed the bottom of the door. She pushed herself to a knee just as the steel door closed. Nicole looked around.

She was the only one who made it inside.

Nicole looked around. She was in a large ante-chamber with some sort of pit in the middle. Banks of computer consoles and monitor screens ran along the pit. It was from behind those consoles that Hernandez and his SF men exchanged fire with CEMCOR troopers.

She ran over to them. Nicole gasped as a couple of bullets cracked by her. She fired in the direction of the CEMCOR troopers, who fired from behind other consoles and doorways.

Nicole slid across the metal floor and stopped beside Hernandez. Bullets punched and pinged off the console they hid behind. Hernandez fired two bursts before turning to her. "Where's the cavalry?"

"The damn door closed before they could get through."

Hernandez looked at the steel door and scowled. "Shit." He fired at the CEMCOR troopers until his M4 clicked empty.

"See that room?" Hernandez nodded to a cube-shaped room protruding from the wall at the other end of the ante-chamber. The glass window in the front had been shot out. "I'm guessing that's their security control room. They should have a control in there for the door. Get in there and get it open. We'll cover you."

Nicole nodded, feeling a shiver of fear building inside her.

"Run bent at the waist and don't run in a straight line. You got this, Captain."

"I got this." She hoped she sounded confident.

"Ready?" asked Hernandez.

_No. _But what choice did she have? "Ready."

Hernandez shoved another 30-round magazine into his M4. "Cover fire for the captain!"

He opened fire. So did the other Security Forces troopers. The crackles from their M4 merged into a sustained roar.

"Go! Go! Go!" Hernandez shouted.

Nicole took a breath, said a quick prayer and ran. She bent at the waist and ran in a zigzag, just like Hernandez told her. She pumped her legs as hard as possible. The security control room seemed so far away.

_Please don't let me got shot. Please don't let me get shot._

A bullet cracked by her. Then another.

Nicole kept running.

The gunfire behind her crescendoed. Mixed in were the sharp _thumps_ of hand grenades.

Suddenly she found herself at the security control room. She pushed the door open.

Two people in CEMCOR fatigues knelt behind their consoles, one a stocky black woman, the other a mousy white man.

Nicole brought up her M4. "Don't -"

The woman raised a pistol.

Nicole pulled the trigger twice. Gushers of blood shot up from the woman's shoulder, neck and head. She crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Her partner stared at the dead woman with wide, fearful eyes.

"Open the door!" Nicole advanced on the man.

He just stared at his partner's corpse, quaking.

"Open the damn door now!" Nicole shoved the barrel of her M4 in his face.

"D-Door?"

"The steel door leading to the cave. Can you open it from here?"

"Y-Yes."

"Then do it!"

The man nodded and whimpered. He looked over the console and pressed a button.

Nicole turned, her rifle still trained on the man. The steel door rose. Several JSCS personnel streamed through it. Orange strobes burst from their M4s. Her throat clenched when she saw one of her people go down. Then another.

A CEMCOR trooper fell. Then more. Soon the gunfire tapered off, then ended.

Nicole looked back at the CEMCOR man. He still stared at her, hands up, shaking.

"Please. Please," he begged.

CEMCOR or not, she didn't want to shoot an unarmed man. But she couldn't just leave him here to cause trouble.

Nicole flipped around her M4 and rammed the butt into the man's face. He fell on his back, moaning. She pushed him onto his stomach and bound his hands with plastic flexicuffs.

She headed out of the security control room. An Air Force nurse tended to one of the 1st JSCS members who'd been shot. She looked at the other one and felt tears sting her eyes.

No nurse or doctor could do anything for that poor man.

"Holy shit. Look at that."

Guzman's voice snapped her back to reality. She saw the SF trooper looking over the railing to the pit below. She walked over and stared down herself.

"Oh my God."

An enormous, gray, bullet-shaped object sat at the bottom of the pit. Two conical devices stuck out from its rear.

Engines.

"I think we know how Gigan got came to Earth."

Hernandez nodded. "Search this place top to bottom. Find Howell, and remember, we need him alive."

Nicole and Hernandez hustled through one of the half-oval shaped doors. They checked one office. No one was in it. The second office they came upon had a woman in a casual shirt and jeans kneeling behind her desk.

"Please don't shoot me," she pleaded.

They didn't. Nicole secured her with flexicuffs and moved on with Hernandez. When they reached the next office, they discovered someone hiding under a desk.

"Out now, or I shoot."

The man who came out was doughy and balding and wore glasses.

"Doctor Darrell Howell, I presume?" asked Nicole.

Howell looked at her, then at Hernandez. Suddenly he let out a wail and raised his arm.

He held a pair of scissors.

"No, don't!"

Howell lunged at Hernandez. The master sergeant brought up his M4.

Nicole screamed, "Don't kill him!"

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	29. Chapter 29

Howell brought down his arm. Hernandez dodged left. The scissors flashed past him. Hernandez rammed the butt of his M4 into Howell's wrist. The scientist howled in pain. The scissors fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. Hernandez kneed Howell in the gut. He gasped and dropped to his knees.

"Get up." Hernandez grabbed Howell by the collar and yanked him to his feet with one hand. He then shoved the scientist into his chair and kicked the scissors away. Howell grimaced and rubbed his wrist.

"You wanna try any more stupid shit?" Hernandez glared at him.

Howell swallowed and shook his head.

"You're the walking piece of crap that gave Zamora control of Gigan, huh?"

Howell looked away.

"I asked you a question, shithead!"

A whimper escaped Howell's lips. He tried to shrink away from Hernandez.

Scowling, Hernandez stepped closer to him.

"Master Sergeant," Nicole called out.

"Ma'am?"

She waved for him to come over. They stepped out into the hallway, Nicole speaking in a low voice.

"Let me give it a try."

"Are you sure, Ma'am?"

"Look at him." Nicole nodded to Howell. "The guy's scared out of his mind."

"Good," said Hernandez.

Nicole frowned briefly. "Maybe what we need is a softer approach. Like the saying goes, you can catch more flies with honey. We might get more information out of him than we bargained for."

Hernandez looked at Howell, then back at Nicole. "Is this an order, Ma'am?"

"I can make it one."

"Okay. But I'll be right outside if you need me."

Nicole nodded. "Thank you, Master Sergeant."

She handed Hernandez her M4 – she figured not having a rifle would make her less threatening – and re-entered the office. Howell still rubbed his wrist as she pulled up a chair across from him.

"Are you okay, Doctor Howell?"

He looked over at her. She immediately sensed him relax a little. "It hurts."

"Can you move your fingers?"

Howell flexed his hand. He winced in pain.

"It doesn't look like anything's broken," Nicole said. "We have some nurses with us. I can have them take a look at it."

"Thank you. Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." She gave him an apologetic smile. Howell sat up a little straighter. "Captain Nicole Fox, United States Air Force."

"Are you a pilot?"

"No, I'm actually a signals intelligence officer."

Howell's brow furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"I think you know why we're here, Darrell. Can I call you Darrell?"

He nodded.

"Like I said, I think you know why we're here. It has to do with Gigan."

Howell avoided eye contact with Nicole. "I can't talk about it."

Nicole stared at him, thinking about what to say or do next. Saying, "Please tell me," would make her sound like an annoying little sister. If she looked like some Victoria's Secret model she could just bat her eyes and make some seductive pouty face and have Howell spill ever secret he ever had. Jeff acted like she was the hottest woman on the planet. At best, Nicole considered herself okay looking.

_Whatever I've got, I might as well use it._

"Darrell." She reached across and took hold of his hands. Howell stiffened. His wide eyes showed more surprise than anything else. Nicole figured this was a guy who never had much luck when it came to women.

"Darrell, please." She slowly ran her thumb along his hand. "You have to tell me what you know about Gigan."

"I-I can't." He looked down at his hands and Nicole's hands intertwined. "This is all supposed to be a secret."

"Darrell." Nicole leaned closer. "Please. You seem like a really smart, really nice guy who got caught up in something bad. I don't want to see you get hurt, but if you don't tell me what I need to know, Master Sergeant Hernandez is going to come back in here and he will hurt you. He will hurt you bad."

Howell shuddered. "But-But you're an officer. You can order him not to hurt me."

Nicole's shoulders sagged. "I wish I could, but these macho, sexist types like Hernandez only listen to female officers for so long. When he gets too jacked up on testosterone, no order I give is going to stop him."

Howell looked out in the hallway. Hernandez stared back at him with an unsmiling, menacing look. He shifted in his chair and took two loud, deep breaths.

"He'd . . . He'd want me to be brave."

"Who?" asked Nicole.

"Horatio. I mean, President Zamora."

"Why would he want you to be brave?"

"He wants to bring about a new era in America. No more war, no more racism, no more greed, no more hunger, no more divisive talk. Everyone would have whatever they needed, corporations would no longer exploit the poor, people wouldn't be allowed to spread lies on TV, radio or the internet. We would have a real utopia where everyone got along."

"And that's what Zamora's using Gigan for?" asked Nicole. "To create this crisis and bring about his utopia?"

Howell started to nod, then stopped.

"What about all the people Gigan's killed?"

Howell cast his gaze to his lap. A nervous twitch formed under his right eye. "H-Horatio said some people might get hurt or killed, but that it would be a small price to pay."

"A small price?" blurted Nicole. She tried to push down her anger as she continued. "Do you know who many people Gigan has killed? Millions!"

"They were bad people." Howell didn't look at Nicole as he spoke. "That's what Horatio told me. They were people who didn't like his vision for America."

"They were not bad people, Darrell. They were just people." Nicole paused. "Do you have a family?"

"Uh-huh." He nodded.

"What if it was your family who died in these attacks?"

"That won't happen. My family live in states that supported the Vice President in the last election. Horatio won't attack them."

Nicole exhaled slowly. She calmed herself before trying a new tactic. "Darrell, can you do something for me?"

"I-I guess."

She smiled and gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "I want you to close your eyes and think of a place with lots of people, like a baseball game or football game."

"I don't like sports."

"Okay, then. Someplace else. Think of a mall or a park."

"There's a mall in Las Vegas I go to sometimes."

"Good, good," said Nicole. "Picture it. Picture your last visit there."

"Okay."

"What were some of things you saw there?"

"They have a nice food court there, and a decent electronics store."

"What about the people?"

"There were lots of them there," said Howell.

"Describe them."

"How can I? There must have been hundreds."

Nicole chewed on her lip, thinking. "Which ones stood out in your mind?"

Howell was silent for several seconds. "There was a girl at the Orange Julius place. She was pretty. She was also nice to me. I saw this old couple holding hands and laughing. I remember thinking I wish I had someone I could spend the rest of my life with."

"Good. Good. What about children?"

Howell paused again to think. "There were two girls, maybe eleven or twelve, running out of a photo booth and laughing. There was this little boy, I guess two or three, on a little merry-go-round. His parents were smiling and taking pictures of him."

"That sounds nice," Nicole told him. "Do you still have all those people pictured in your mind?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good. Now picture all of them dead."

Howell stiffened.

"That pretty girl at Orange Julius, the old couple, the girls at the photo booth, the parents and their little boy at the merry-go-round. Picture them all dead."

Howell lowered his head.

"Now multiply that a million times. Those are the kinds of people Gigan has killed."

Howell's jaw quivered as Nicole continued. "Parents bringing up their children, old people enjoying their golden years, girls just having fun. Do these sound like bad people to you, Darrell? Do these sound like the kinds of people who deserve to die?"

The scientist choked off a sob.

"Is this how you want to create utopia? On the bodies of millions of people who never hurt anybody?"

Howell trembled. A tear slid down his cheek.

"You have to know this is wrong," Nicole said. "You have to know that President Zamora is wrong."

"But he's my friend."

"What kind of friend makes you kill so many people?" She leaned closer to him. "Help me stop this, Darrell. Please don't let any more innocent people die."

"I'm sorry." Darrell cried. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make things better, like Horatio always talked about."

He wept for a few minutes. Nicole said nothing. When he looked up, she put on her most sympathetic expression. "That ship in the pit. Is that how Gigan came to Earth?"

"Yes." Howell nodded.

"Who found it?"

"I did. I've studied Native American stories for years looking for clues about extraterrestrial visitations dating back hundreds, even thousands of years. Some petroglyphs from the Washoe Tribe led me here. That's when I found the capsule, and Gigan."

"So why did you tell Zamora about it?" asked Nicole.

"He's always been interested in my research. Most people think aliens are bad because of beings like the Kilaaks and King Ghidorah. But Horatio felt aliens might have technology and philosophies that could benefit the entire human race. He asked me to inform him if I ever came across anything extraterrestrial in nature."

Nicole nodded. It sounded like Zamora had been plotting to use alien tech to gain power since his college days.

"It took years just to translate the language of the civilization that built the capsule. But I did it." Howell sat up straighter, displaying renewed energy, like he was proud of his accomplishment. "I learned a lot of interesting things about Gigan."

"Like what?"

"Well, it confirmed a theory some of us at NASA's xenobiology department had. That there wasn't just a single Gigan. There are many of them. They're artificial constructs, living weapons, built by a race on the other side of the galaxy hundreds of thousands of years ago."

"What happened to them?" asked Nicole.

"The aliens? From what I could translate, the whole race apparently died out."

"But they left their weapons behind, specifically the Gigans."

"Yes." Howell nodded. "So when the aliens that originally built the Gigans became extinct, other races used the monsters for their own purposes. The Nebula M Aliens, the Seatopians, and probably many others."

"Including President Zamora," said Nicole.

"Yes."

"So how does he control Gigan?"

"The control signal is disguised as a cell phone," Howell told her. "And developing that wasn't easy. Gigan's brain is like nothing anyone has seen before. Part living tissue, part computer."

"You mean like a cyborg."

Howell shook his head. "More like organic technology. A living central processing unit. Trying to figure out that technology also took years. Even when I did, it was so complex I could only come up with a rudimentary control device."

"So there's a limit to what Zamora can do with Gigan?"

"He can order Gigan to whatever place he wants, or order him to leave it. But he can't control every single movement during a fight. Not that it matters since Gigan has autonomous programming for that."

"In other words," Nicole began, "just point Gigan at a target and let him take care of the rest."

"It's a simple way of phrasing it, but basically, yes."

Nicole looked over the desk, grabbed a pen and a Post-it note and gave it to Howell. "What's the frequency of the control signal?"

Howell wrote it down. Nicole took the note and smiled. "Thank you, Darrell. You may have helped save a lot of lives. You should feel good about that."

He nodded. "You're welcome. I'm sorry, about everyone else who died."

It took an effort for Nicole to maintain her smile. The fact Dr. Darrell Howell had gone through with his efforts to revive Gigan, even after Zamora told him point blank people would die, told her all she needed to know about the man's character, or severe lack thereof.

She walked into the hallway and motioned for Hernandez to follow.

"For the record, Ma'am, I am not a macho, sexist type who refuses to follow the orders of female officers."

"Oh quit being so damn sensitive. It helped get Howell to open up, didn't it?"

Hernandez gave her a half-smile. "That it did. So, what are you going to do now that you have the frequency?"

"What else? Build a jamming device. Then we'll see how bad President Zamora is without his pet monster."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	30. Chapter 30

"These stories making the rounds on the internet are pure fantasy," President Zamora told the press – the press loyal to him – in the spacious parlor of his Key Biscayne mansion. "First, I never knew a man named Darrell Howell. Second, CEMCOR security personnel have determined that Howell was fired from NASA in disgrace, so whatever he says must be suspect. Gigan is definitely not under my control or the control of anyone in the U.S. Government."

"Has this conspiracy theory about you controlling Gigan hindered recovery efforts in those cities the monster has attacked?" asked a reporter from CBS.

"It has. Some people are refusing to work with CEMCOR and other government agencies in those cities. I find it very disheartening that some would let their hatred for the government jeopardize the lives and welfare of their fellow citizens. As reluctant as I am to do this, I will have to order the authorities to detain anyone who perpetuates this . . . myth about Gigan and my administration. Some may say this is an infringement on people's freedom of speech guaranteed by the First Amendment. But the First Amendment was not created to allow people to impede relief efforts and risk the lives of millions during an unprecedented national crisis such as this one."

"What about reports from the Canadian media about nuclear explosions in the Arctic and the reappearance of Godzilla?" asked a CNN reporter.

"We still have no confirmation on either of those events," said Zamora. "Now, I'm sorry, but I can take no more questions. As you can imagine, there are many matters that need my attention. Thank you."

Zamora walked away from the lectern. Several reporters shouted questions at him. He ignored them and went through an arched doorway flanked by two CEMCOR guards. The hallway he entered was wide with wooden panels. Gone from the walls were the huge, framed photos of the NBA player who previously owned this mansion. Nothing but a testament to the massive ego of a man who conned the poor into buying his jerseys and sneakers so he could live in luxury.

He emerged in the foyer, an enormous and elegant chandelier hanging above him and plush white carpet under his feet. Waiting for him at the bottom of the grand staircase were Chief of Staff Erica Horton and CEMCOR Director Thomas Burleson.

"Has anyone found Howell yet?" Zamora snapped.

Burleson winced. "Um, no, Mister President. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Find that little shit!"

Zamora stomped up the stairs, Horton and Burleson following. He fought to keep his hand from going to his stomach. Dammit, it felt like lava was burning through his gut. He'd been feeling that way for the past few days. First the nuclear explosions that freed Godzilla, then the raid on the base near Alamo, Nevada. How the hell did his enemies even find it? Now they were forcing Darrell to divulge everything he knew about the Gigan project. Even with all the restrictions Zamora had placed on social media sites, Darrell's confession still got out on the internet. Many people had seen it, and a good number of them believed it.

On top of that, the Canadians had thrown a conniption fit over a group of renegade American pilots stealing fuel and holding workers at gunpoint at several remote airports. Zamora had promised Prime Minister DeBrusk those pilots would be found and severely punished. That hadn't been a promise to just shut the man up. He'd meant it. All indications were the pilots belonged to the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron, the same ones who escaped the detention camp in Missouri.

And somehow the bastards had gotten hold of a pair of nuclear bombs, and used them to free Godzilla!

Zamora's face scrunched a pounding headache began. _Yamagata, you son-of-a-bitch._

He couldn't understand it. The man wasn't white. His grandparents and great-grandparents had been locked up by this country during World War II for no reason other than the color of their skin. Why would Major Yamagata oppose what he was doing?

Maybe he had too many flags waved in his face. Maybe he'd been brainwashed by the Marines – those people were absolute fanatics to begin with – that this country was so wonderful and that the slaughter of poor, dark-skinned people the world over was justified. Whatever the case, Yamagata was a traitor. He and the rest of his squadron were now on CEMCOR's most wanted list.

Wanted alive or dead.

Zamora also needed to speed up the dismantling of America's nuclear arsenal. The last thing he needed was some lunatic setting off an A-bomb in Miami.

A CEMCOR guard opened the door to Zamora's office. He strode past sofas and high-back cushioned chairs to his desk. The floor-to-ceiling bullet-resistant windows showed a large backyard with a pool. More CEMCOR guards patrolled the mansion's perimeter. He also saw a Humvee with a heavy machine gun beyond the wrought iron fence.

"Are we at least starting to control the damage from Darrell's story?" Zamora sat down.

Horton frowned. "We're . . . getting there."

"In other words, no." Zamora scowled.

"Those most loyal to you don't believe it. In some cases, they believe it and applaud it. But we are seeing more and more desertions among military members. There are reports entire units have joined the extremists opposing your rule."

Zamora shook his head. "The one time I actually need those bloodthirsty scum to help me, and now they're going back on their oath to obey their Commander-in-Chief." He snorted. "We need to reform our military into units who will follow my orders without question. See to it, Erica."

"Yes, Mister President."

"We're also seeing the same problem with both local and federal law enforcement," said Burleson. "Many officers and agents have resigned out of protest. Others have outright refused to follow your martial law decree. CEMCOR has taken heavy casualties in the Midwest and the southern states from right-wing extremists. Mister President, I recommend sending Gigan to those states. Destroy some cities. Eliminate some of the opposition."

"I can't do that now."

"But Mister President, our CEMCOR forces in those states won't last long with the majority of the population against them. We have to help them."

"And what about Godzilla? What if I send Gigan to Texas or Nebraska and that damn fire-breathing dinosaur attacks Miami?"

"Who's to say Godzilla will even come to Miami?" Horton offered. "Or anywhere in the United States for that matter?"

"I've read the reports on Godzilla, Mothra and the other so-called Guardian Monsters," said Zamora. "They appear to have an innate sense when it comes to locating other giant monsters, especially ones they consider a threat to the planet."

Not that he considered Gigan a threat. The beast was simply a tool to bring about a more just and orderly society.

But how could a big stupid reptile fathom something like that?

Zamora spun his chair around, looking out the window at the bright, sunny sky. "We've had two sightings of Godzilla over the past two days. One off the coast of Massachusetts, the other off the coast of Delaware. He's moving south. And Gigan is currently sitting at the bottom of the ocean twenty miles south of here. Godzilla must see him as a threat. He'll come here and fight Gigan."

He turned back to Horton and Burleson, eyes narrowed. "Let the damn lizard come here. Gather all the planes, ships, tanks and artillery we can. Station them all along the shoreline."

"But Mister President," said Burleson. "Godzilla is nearly impervious to most conventional weapons."

"'_Nearly impervious,' _not completely impervious. If we hit him with everything we have, we can weaken him to an extent, then leave him to Gigan."

Zamora grinned. "Yes, Godzilla will come here, and then we'll finish him once and for all."

**XXXXX**

It felt good to be back on American soil.

Granted, Yamagata thought, America was now under the rule of a dictator. Or at least, a good chunk of it.

Still, it was good to be back.

He hopped down from the boarding ladder and looked around at the trees surrounding the single runway of John E. Lewis Field in McComb, Mississippi. It had taken long enough to get here. After dropping their nukes they landed at Thule Air Base in Greenland, where they found the base commander very much opposed Zamora's power grab. Yamagata and his Beastmasters stayed there for several days while military leaders opposed to the Tyrant-in-Chief arranged for aerial refueling along the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico.

Now, after putting in over 10,000 miles since leaving Pierre, South Dakota, Yamagata was back in the Good ol' USA.

He took a deep breath, smiled and strode across the tarmac.

"Jeff!"

Yamagata halted. A joyous feeling spread out from his chest and overwhelmed his body. His smile grew wider when he saw Nicole running toward him.

Just like in a movie, she threw her arms around him and planted a big kiss on his lips.

"Ugh. You need a shave," she said. "And a shower."

"I love you, too." Yamagata kissed her again. "I saw the video you shot of Howell talking about Zamora using Gigan. Nice going. Hopefully that'll get more people to join us."

"It has. We've also gotten reports on some Godzilla sightings in the Atlantic. I'm glad the nuke plan worked."

"Well, it freed the big guy. Now all he has to do is take out Gigan. Not an easy job, even for Godzilla."

"Speaking of Gigan," Nicole took his hand. "Follow me."

She led Yamagata down the runway, past a cluster of small buildings, and into a hangar. Sitting inside was a jet with a pointy nose, large cockpit window and stubby swept wings. It reminded him of a small corporate jet. In reality, it was a T-1A Jayhawk, an Air Force plane used to train future transport and tanker pilots.

"A training aircraft. Wow, no way we can lose with this."

"Shut up." Nicole elbowed him. "We got this from 71st Training Wing at Vance Air Force Base in Oklahoma. Most of them haven't drunk the Zamora flavored Kool Aid. See the antennas near the tail section? They're hooked up to an improvised jamming system I whipped up. If we're about forty miles away from The President, he won't be able to control Gigan."

Yamagata put an arm around Nicole's shoulder. "You are beyond awesome, hon." He planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You do know there are rules against PDA, Major," said an unfamiliar voice from behind.

He spun around to see a stocky man with black-gray hair and wearing a MARPAT uniform striding toward him. When Yamagata saw the eagle insignia on the man's collar, he snapped to attention and saluted. So did Nicole.

"At ease." The man smiled. "After the long trip you had, I can look the other way when you kiss your girlfriend, but just this once."

The man stuck out his hand. "Colonel Bruce Drumright, U.S Marine Corps. I'm with J-3 for Operation: Backlash."

Yamagata shook Drumright's hand. J-3 meant the operations staff for a joint services mission. "Operation: Backlash, Sir?"

"Come with me, Major. I'll explain."

They headed toward the rectangular terminal building.

"If you don't mind me asking, Sir," Yamagata began, "how did you wind up here?"

"I was CO for Marine Aviation Training Support Group Twenty-Two in Corpus Christi, at least until Zamora lost his mind and used a giant monster to wreck half the country. No way in hell was I going to follow a President like that. A lot of other senior officers felt the same way."

Drumright led them into a small office with a plain metal desk and a couple of chairs. He pulled an iPad from his assault vest and tapped the screen. Yamagata saw a map of Miami with several red arrows.

"Miami," he muttered. "That's Zamora's hometown."

"And the de facto capital of the US since Gigan turned Washington into rubble," said Drumright. "After Captain Fox informed us of your plan to free Godzilla from the Arctic, we tasked the Navy to keep track of him. At least, ships whose crews see Zamora for the dictator he is. He's been heading due south toward Miami. We're figuring President Zamora is keeping Gigan close by. I'm sure you know that these giant monsters have an uncanny sense for homing in on one another."

"That's why we set Godzilla free," Yamagata responded.

"Well, hopefully our favorite radioactive dinosaur can get some payback on Gigan. He takes out that ugly SOB, there's no way Zamora will be able to hold on to power."

"He's already having a hard time now," Nicole chimed in. "CEMCOR's taken heavy casualties in several states. Gigan hasn't attacked any cities in days, so we've been able to get better organized and build up our forces."

Yamagata nodded. "How much you want to bet Zamora doesn't want to let Gigan stray too far from Miami in case Godzilla shows up?"

"That's what we're thinking," Drumright commented. "Our latest intelligence shows Zamora building up his security forces around Miami."

"What's their size and capabilities?"

"We estimate between four to six thousand enemy personnel, a combination of CEMCOR and police and military loyal to Zamora. They have some artillery and armor and a small flotilla of destroyers and Coast Guard cutters, backed up by some armed speedboats and yachts."

"Air support?" asked Yamagata.

"About thirty combat jets, maybe fifteen helicopters CEMCOR has turned into improvised gunships."

"So what do we have to take on CEMCOR?"

"Two full carrier strike groups led by the _Theodore Roosevelt _and the _Nimitz, _along with an Amphibious Readiness Group. We've also committed three Air Guard squadrons to Operation: Backlash, as well as the composite squadron from The Boneyard."

Yamagata furrowed his brow. "The Boneyard?" He knew that was the airfield in Tucson, Arizona with dozens upon dozens of old aircraft on display. "We must be getting desperate if we're throwing museum pieces into this fight."

"We lost a lot of planes fighting Gigan," said Drumright. "And there are also a number of planes being flown by Zamora loyalists. We need firepower, Major, and right now beggars can't be choosers."

"So what could we salvage from The Boneyard?"

"About half-a-dozen transports, so we can fly about two hundred more soldiers to Miami. They also got a couple of Phantoms, two Thunderchiefs, a Warthog, a Skyhawk and a Sabre combat ready. They even converted a B-52 into a gunship. That thing's bristling with fifty cals, twenty-millimeter Vulcans and thirty-millimeter GAU-8s."

Yamagata's eyes widened. He'd love to see that baby rain a shitload of lead on CEMCOR.

Then he mentally crunched some numbers. The ARG would have roughly 2,200 Marines. Add in the 200 airborne troops . . .

"We're gonna be seriously outnumbered on the ground, and it'll be in an urban environment, the toughest place to fight in."

"I'm well aware of that, Major," said Drumright. "But our training and air support will give us the edge over CEMCOR."

_I seriously hope so, _Yamagata thought.

Drumright continued. "This is our chance to cut off the head of the snake. If we capture President Zamora, his whole regime collapses."

Yamagata tilted his head. He'd much rather go into Miami with a two-to-one or three-to-one advantage over CEMCOR. But the way things were in the country right now, the best they could do was go into this battle with whatever forces they could scrape up.

_I guess we don't have much choice when the fate of the country is at stake._

"I want in on this, Sir. Me and the Beastmasters."

"Oh, there is no way we're leaving assets like your Excaliburs out of this fight."

"Thank you, Sir," said Yamagata.

Drumright nodded. "Now, you had a long flight to get here. You and your men get some chow, then get plenty of rest. You're going to need it for tomorrow, because that's when we take back our country."

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	31. Chapter 31

Yamagata didn't want to do this.

_You have no choice. You can't jeopardize the operation._

He stared through his helmet-mounted display at the aircraft in the distance. The Beastmasters had been flying over the Gulf of Mexico for nearly an hour trying to find it. Not an easy task with the radar turned off. But they couldn't risk any electronic emissions being picked up. So he, Sharpe and Ashby patrolled their assigned sectors with just their night vision and their Mark One Eyeballs.

Yamagata had been fortunate enough to find the E-3 AWACS. Or maybe fortunate was the wrong term. He had no idea if the crew on that plane actually believed all of Zamora's BS or if they simply followed what they felt were legitimate orders from their commander-in-chief.

_They made their decision. They have to live with it._

Actually, they wouldn't.

Yamagata kept the nose pointed at the E-3. The familiar form of the four-engine 707 frame with its flying saucer-like radar dome near the tail grew larger. The digitally-generated gun pipper in his HMD settled over the port wing root.

A sick feeling crept through his stomach. He was about to fire on fellow service members. Nearly twenty of them, in an unarmed aircraft. My God, what he was about to do was akin to murder.

But how many other service members, ones opposed to Zamora, would die if he didn't do this?

He drew closer to the E-3. With the Excalibur's stealth profile and zero electronic emissions, the AWACS crew had no idea of the threat bearing down on them.

Yamagata gritted his teeth. His thumb hovered over the firing button.

_Sorry, guys._

Two beams shot from the particle beam cannons. Yamagata saw a flash on the port wing. Moments later a ball of brilliant light consumed the E-3 Sentry.

"Splash one AWACS," Yamagata stated, trying to put the deaths of the crew out of his mind.

He clicked his radio mike two times, paused for two seconds, then clicked it again, the signal that the AWACS had been destroyed. Zamora's forces now had no radar coverage over the Gulf of Mexico.

Phase One of Operation: Backlash was complete.

**XXXXX**

_Please let this work. _

Nicole stared at the lash-up of radio and computer equipment in the rear compartment of the T-1A. She had tested the improvised jammer three times back in Mississippi before heading out on their mission. The thing turned on when she activated it. It transmitted the appropriate signal.

All that remained was to see if it would block Zamora's control signal to Gigan.

She turned to a seat in the middle of the cabin. Dr. Howell sat there. It took some effort on her part to convince Colonel Drumright to let the scientist accompany them on the mission. But if anything went wrong with the jammer, she wanted Howell around to pick his brain. From his slumped posture and dejected expression, Nicole couldn't imagine Howell causing any trouble. Even if he did, he was flanked by two tough-looking MPs armed with 9mm Berettas, tasers and batons.

Her biggest concern came from the fighters under Zamora's control. As a trainer, the T-1A carried no weapons or counter-measures. But with the Beastmasters having taken out the AWACS, the other side would have a hard time finding them. Even if they did, the Backlash command staff had tasked four F-15s to protect them.

"Excuse me, Captain."

Nicole turned to find the co-pilot sticking her head through the open cockpit door. "We're in position."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

She walked over to a laptop attached to the top of the jamming unit. She typed in her password and moved her index finger over the ENTER button.

"Here goes nothing."

**XXXXX**

Captain Cliff Brooks stared at one of the monitors on the bulkhead of the _USS Laboon's _Combat Information Center. He clasped his hands behind his back and watched the V-22 tilt-rotors lift off from the amphibious ship _Kearsarge. _He couldn't believe they were sending US Marines to attack an American city.

Brooks still couldn't believe he was actually taking part in a coup. Never in his entire Navy career had he even conceived of taking up arms against the President of the United States. But as members of the crew received messages from family members and friends about detention camps, gun confiscations and free speech restrictions, he knew Zamora was taking the martial law decree too far.

When he learned his commander-in-chief actually orchestrated the Gigan attacks, Brooks could no longer follow the man.

"_I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic."_

That was the oath he swore as an officer in the United States Navy. President Zamora and CEMCOR had proven from their actions that they were the very definition of domestic enemies.

Brooks checked the radar display on the main monitor. When the V-22s were forty miles from Miami, he turned to his weapons officer.

"Commander Jimenez. Commence Tomahawk launches against all assigned targets."

"Aye, Captain. Commencing Tomahawk launches."

A minute later a series of shudders went through the _Laboon_ as cruise missiles blasted out of their vertical launch system tubes. Many of their target coordinates had been provided by resistance groups in Miami, the majority made up of members of the Cuban exile community. That didn't surprise Brooks. They and their families had fled Cuba on rafts, pieces of plywood and anything else that would float to get away from their Communist rulers.

They probably never imagined another totalitarian regime popping up in the United States, especially one created by a fellow exile.

Brooks checked his watch, calculating the time it would take for the Tomahawks to reach their targets.

**XXXXX**

Zamora looked up when he heard the door to his office bang open.

"Mister President!" Master Sergeant Ehrhoff, the head of his security detail, strode up to him. "Our destroyers have detected multiple missiles inbound to Miami."

"What?" A stab of fear went through him. "Are they nuclear missiles?"

"Highly unlikely. It looks like they came from some renegade Navy ships. Mister President, some of those missiles have to be targeted for this mansion. We have to leave now."

Zamora just stared at Ehrhoff, seething. Bastards! Those damn right wingers and traitorous non-whites. Did they really think they could defeat him? Did they think they could go back to the days of propping up greedy corporations, spreading lies through the media and using the military to oppress other countries?

_I will not allow that to happen._

"Mister President, please," begged Ehrhoff.

Scowling, Zamora got up from his desk. Ehrhoff and four other CEMCOR bodyguards led him out of the mansion and to a waiting Humvee. Zamora got in the back, with Ehrhoff on one side and another guard on the other. The vehicle pulled away before the doors were slammed shut. Four other Humvees escorted it.

"You said those missiles came from ships?" Zamora asked Ehrhoff.

"It seems so."

A slight grin formed on Zamora's face. "Well, I can take care of that."

He pulled out the special cell phone from his pocket and sent a signal to Gigan. It wouldn't take the monster long to destroy those ships. Then those right-wing fanatics would see –

"What the hell?"

Zamora at the words on the screen in disbelief.

SIGNAL INTERRUPTION.

**XXXXX**

Yamagata counted at least 20 fires blazing throughout Miami. Beneath those flames were airfields, electrical substations, government buildings and troop concentrations. He also saw a handful of ships burning in Biscayne Bay.

"I've got two F-16s south of Stingray." Sharpe used the codename for Miami. "Not squawking friendly IFF. Engaging."

"Beastmaster Two, Beastmaster One," Yamagata radioed. "You need any help?"

"I'll let you know in a sec."

Fifteen seconds passed before Sharpe spoke again. "That's a negative on the help, One. Both Sixteens splashed. Repeat, both Sixteens splashed."

"Roger that, Two. Good work."

Yamagata scanned outside, then checked his radar display. He didn't see any other aircraft transmitting the wrong signal on their Identification Friend or Foe system. Then again, he hadn't seen very many enemy jets in the air, period. The first wave of Tomahawks probably took out several of them on the ground. Some of the pilots also may have decided they weren't about to lay down their lives for a sick psycho shitbag like Zamora.

He could but hope.

More explosions lit up the night around Miami. Yamagata kept flying in a racetrack pattern, waiting for any requests for air support.

An AWACS assigned to Operation: Backlash detected a CEMCOR helicopter over Brickell Key. The mission crew tasked the F-86 Sabre with The Boneyard squadron to take it out. The stubby, swept-wing Korean War-era jet tore it apart with its six .50 caliber machine guns.

Yamagata heard no other reports of enemy aircraft. It appeared they had already accomplished one of the most important goals of any military operation.

They had achieved air superiority.

Flickers of light in the bay drew Yamagata's attention. He saw tracers and contrails streaking from the _Mustin _and _Sampson, _two destroyers still loyal to Zamora. Fireballs blossomed over the waves and in the night sky as the warships shot down incoming missiles and planes. Three bright flashes formed in the water. Probably cutters and armed yachts exploding.

The destroyers remained.

Two planes from The Boneyard squadron dove on them, an A-10 Warthog and an A-4 Skyhawk. Tracers flew toward them. Flames spat from the Warthog's blunt nose. Rounds from the 30mm cannon sliced into the _Sampson. _Sparks and flames erupted from the destroyer's aft section.

Two bombs fell from the Skyhawk. One threw up a huge geyser of water. The other blew apart the _Sampson's _island.

Yamagata smiled and nodded.

That smile vanished when a SAM turned the A-10 into a fireball. Seconds later, the Skyhawk spun into the bay, trailing smoke and flame.

"Dammit." Yamagata turned to McGovern. "Get ready, Gov. We've still got one more enemy destroyer intact. We don't take it out, it's gonna make life hell for our amphibious ships."

"I think a couple of particle beam blasts should fix that. Let's do it."

Yamagata pushed the stick left.

"Beastmaster One. Engaging last enemy destroyer."

He put the Excalibur into a dive when McGovern leaned forward.

"Whoa! Check out that wake heading for the destroyer."

Yamagata saw the roiling, foaming line barreling toward the _Mustin._

_Is that who I think it is?_

Tracers zipped from the _Mustin_, raking the bay. Geysers of water shot up around the wake, probably from torpedoes or ASROCs.

The water around _Mustin _exploded. Yamagata's eyes widened as the destroyer rose in the air.

Godzilla stood in the middle of Biscayne Bay, his jaws clamped down on the _Mustin._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	32. Chapter 32

Yamagata watched as Godzilla crushed the midsection of the _Mustin. _The destroyer snapped in two. Both halves tumbled into the Bay of Biscayne.

Streaks of fire shot up from the beaches. Bright strobes winked on and off by the water's edge. CEMCOR shore batteries. Rockets and shells exploded up and down Godzilla's body.

_Not a good idea, guys, _Yamagata thought.

Godzilla turned toward the beach. He roared and belched out a stream of atomic flame. Enormous fireballs billowed into the air.

"That oughta make things easier for the Marines," said McGovern.

Godzilla turned away from Miami and swam west. Yamagata noticed a squadron of V-22s flying toward the city, less than a mile from the monster. He held his breath. Each of those tilt-rotors carried nearly 30 Marines. Would Godzilla destroy them? Could he distinguish between humans who wanted to attack him and ones who didn't?

The mutant dinosaur gave the V-22s a cursory glance and continued out into the Atlantic.

"Where's he going?" asked Caputo.

Yamagata glanced over his shoulder at the sensor operator. "My guess, he's going after Gigan."

**XXXXX**

Gigan stood on the ocean floor, not moving a muscle, waiting for another signal from its controller. Whether it waited a day, a month, a year, 1,000 years, it didn't matter. Gigan felt no impatience, no emotions period. Such things were irrelevant to a creature created for just one purpose.

To destroy.

Though immobile, Gigan was by no means dormant. Its senses constantly scanned the ocean around it. Over the past several days it had only detected native marine life, of no threat and of no interest to it.

Then it noticed something else. Something not biological, but mechanical. Aircraft, a large number of them, flying over the ocean.

But the aircraft did not approach its position or attempt to attack it. They were not a threat.

Gigan ignored them.

Its senses picked up another marine animal. A very large marine animal. It took Gigan's computerized brain but a millisecond to identify the creature. It was the same one it had fought before, the one it had buried underneath the ice.

Somehow, the creature had freed itself, and it was headed toward Gigan.

For this it did not need a signal from its controller. Gigan's autonomous systems activated. Its singular red eye lit up. It turned around, scythe arms raised, ready to obey the directive installed in its brain hundreds of thousands of years before.

Engage and eliminate all threats.

**XXXXX**

Godzilla swung his torso and tail left to right as he plowed through the water. Eyes accustomed to the dark of the deep ocean spotted Gigan. The alien raised its arms and opened its beaked mouth. The water dulled its usual high-pitched screech.

Godzilla roared back. He sent a gusher of blue flame toward Gigan. The alien fired its eye laser. Fire and beam collided. The ocean lit up with the explosion of a miniature sun.

Godzilla barreled toward Gigan. The alien screeched and slashed down with its right blade arm. Godzilla dodged the blow. He turned back to Gigan and rammed into its side. Gigan toppled over and crashed onto the ocean floor. Godzilla stomped over to it. Gigan rolled on its back. A red beam shot from its eye. It clipped Godzilla in the side. He stumbled and roared.

Gigan pushed itself to its feet. It screeched and charged. Godzilla had just regained his balance when Gigan smashed into him. His feet pressed into the rocky bottom. He managed to remain upright.

Gigan struck Godzilla's torso with the side of his blade arm. The mutant dinosaur pounded on the alien's neck. Gigan activated the whirling blades embedded along his torso. Godzilla backed away and roared before they could slice into his scaly hide. He spat out atomic fire. The blast hit Gigan in the chest. A massive storm of sparks burst from its skin.

Godzilla rushed forward. He swatted Gigan on the side of the head. Another blow caught the alien right on its beak. It swung its left blade. Godzilla tried to turn away from it.

The blade slashed his right arm.

Godzilla unleashed a roar of pain. Blood streamed from his arm, forming a dark red cloud.

Gigan brought up its right arm. Godzilla opened his mouth. A gusher of flame blasted through the water and hit the scythe arm. The explosion sent chunks of organic metal tumbling to the ocean floor.

Gigan screeched and stumbled backwards. It extended its triple wings and rose. Godzilla leaped at it. He wrapped his arms around Gigan's ankles. The alien continued to rise toward the surface. It swung its legs back and forth, trying to rid itself of Godzilla.

The mutant dinosaur hung on.

Huge curtains of water erupted around Gigan as it blasted out of the Atlantic. It tried to climb higher. The extra weight of Godzilla prevented it from doing so. Again it shook its legs. Godzilla would not let go.

Gigan screeched and continued flying. Godzilla's feet and tail dragged along the water, kicking up jagged wakes. Gigan arched its back and pointed its head skyward. Its entire body strained as it fought to gain altitude.

Godzilla bit Gigan's leg. The alien shrieked as it rose steadily over the Atlantic. It turned its head and fired several bursts from its eye laser. One blast clipped Godzilla's tail. His jaws let go of Gigan's leg and roared in pain.

Gigan flew higher, now 150 feet above the ocean. Two hundred feet. The orange glow from dozens of fires around Miami could be seen in the distance.

The two monsters were 300 feet over the ocean. Four hundred feet. Gigan's computerized brain ran through several scenarios before determining the best way to rid itself of Godzilla. It would head toward Miami and dive into the ground. That would break Godzilla's hold. Then Gigan could go back on the offensive and finally finish him off.

Gigan was 500 feet in the air when it angled its body toward the ground.

The plates running down Godzilla's back glowed blue. Flames shot from his mouth. The blast tore through two of Gigan's wings. A fireball jumped from its back. The alien monster shrieked and thrashed in the air.

That broke Godzilla's grip. The monster fell toward the surface.

So did Gigan. Its damaged wings could no longer generate the anti-gravity field it needed to fly.

Both monsters crashed into the ocean less than a mile from the Miami Beach. A mini tsunami rolled toward the shoreline. Waves of water swept over the beach and slammed into large luxury hotels and expensive condominium units. Vehicles, trees, furniture and people were carried away by the rushing waters.

Gigan surfaced first, emitting a screech as it brought up its blade arms. A geyser of water went up nearby. Godzilla emerged from the ocean and roared.

A red beam from Gigan's eye struck Godzilla in the throat. The giant reptile let out a strangled wail and fell beneath the waves.

Gigan prepared to dive after him when its senses detected something nearby.

Gigan turned. A pair of F/A-18s dove toward it. Each dropped a sleek, swept-winged AGM-154 Joint Standoff Weapon. Both bombs struck Gigan. Their two-stage BROACH warheads, which contained a shaped charge and a follow-through warhead designed to destroy hardened targets, blew off a few layers of skin, but failed to do any significant damage.

Gigan tracked the F/A-18s and fired two eye beams. Both planes vanished in flashes of orange and black.

Gigan turned toward Miami. Its senses detected many more aircraft, some converging on him. Its autonomous programming classified them as threats.

Threats that had to be engaged and eliminated.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	33. Chapter 33

"Godzilla is down," Yamagata radioed. "Repeat, Godzilla is down. Beastmasters, we're on. Form up on me."

Sharpe and Ashby responded, "Roger."

Gigan waded ashore. He marched straight into a large luxury hotel. The structure shattered and crumbled into a pile of rubble. Red beams shot from Gigan's eyes. Plumes of flame and smoke rose throughout Miami Beach.

"What the hell?" McGovern leaned forward in his seat. "He's blowing the crap out of the city."

"Remember the briefing, Sir?" said Caputo. "What Doctor Howell said about Gigan's autonomous program kicking in if it feels threatened?"

"Yeah, except now he's viewing everything as a threat. Godzilla, us, CEMCOR."

Yamagata banked toward the alien monster, with Sharpe's and Ashby's Excaliburs on each wing. Without any control from Zamora, CEMCOR was just as much in danger from Gigan as his side. Part of him felt tempted to let the beast rampage through Miami and take out The President and his army of jackboots.

Unfortunately, a lot of civilians and anti-Zamora forces would die in the process. That was unacceptable.

"Gov, you've got weps," Yamagata said. "Missile barrage on your mark."

"I've got weps. Setting missiles to ripple fire."

Yamagata put the jet into a dive. Gigan stomped deeper into Miami Beach. It crushed entire buildings with a single footfall. A laser blast turned a city block into a fire storm.

"Beastmaster One," said McGovern. "I have missile lock."

"Beastmaster Two," radioed Sharpe. "Missile lock."

"Beastmaster Three," reported Lt. Pena, Ashby's WSO. "Missile lock."

"All Beastmasters . . . fire!"

A _thump _went through the Excalibur. The bright flare from the exhaust of a plasma-yield missile bloomed in front of the cockpit. Another missile shot out the rotary launcher. Four more followed. Soon 18 missiles flew toward Gigan.

Yamagata banked right. The other Excaliburs followed. He checked the rear camera feed. Gigan started turning toward the jets when the missiles struck. Brilliant white balls of plasma energy sprouted over Gigan's body.

"Hit 'im again!" Yamagata swung the jet around.

Gigan stumbled, smoke rising from its body. Yamagata noticed the scythe on its right arm, already badly damaged, was completely gone.

They had hurt it.

"Freeze ray," ordered Yamagata. "I'll go for the head. Blade, go for the left arm. Burner, you've got the feet."

Sharpe and Ashby acknowledged the command.

Yamagata took over weapons control. Gigan continued to stagger, its feet smashing through a large, square-shaped mall. Yamagata slewed the nose of the Excalibur right, trying to put the digital crosshairs on the monster's head.

Sharpe fired first. The ray hit Gigan in the left arm. Ice spread over the scythe.

Gigan halted and stared at its arm. Yamagata put the crosshairs right on its beak. He squeezed the trigger on his control stick.

A block of ice encased Gigan's head.

Ashby fired. His ray hit the caved-in roof of the mall a few yards from Gigan's feet.

"Beastmaster Three, November India." Ashby used the military slang for Negative Impact.

"Beastmasters, come around. We're gonna keep hitting him until Godzilla's back on his feet."

Yamagata veered away from Gigan, glancing out at the area of the ocean where he watched Godzilla fall.

_C'mon. Get your ugly green ass back in the fight._

He checked the positions of the other two Excaliburs. Sharpe trailed a half-mile behind him. Ashby came in low over Miami Beach and turned to join them.

Gigan jumped in the air, its buzzsaw spinning.

"Burner! Gigan's on you! Evade! Evade!"

Ashby threw his Excalibur into a sharp right turn.

Gigan passed directly over it. Sparks shot off the jet's fuselage as the buzzsaw blades sliced into it. The Excalibur spun. Its wings snapped off.

"Ashby!"

The Excalibur split in two. Yamagata watched, open mouthed, as flames snaked out the front half. The wreckage twisted in the air like a comet and smashed into the ground.

**XXXXX**

"Dammit . . . dammit . . . dammit!" Zamora gripped the cell phone, somehow restraining himself from throwing it against the door of his Humvee. No matter what he did, he couldn't send the control signal to Gigan. At last report the monster was on autonomous programming, treating everything and everyone it encountered as a threat.

Including CEMCOR.

Zamora shook with rage. How did the right-wing fanatics do it? How did they keep him from controlling Gigan?

Panic replaced his rage. If he couldn't command Gigan, how could he hope to rule this country?

"Right," Ehrhoff spoke into his cell phone as the Humvee and its escorts traveled down the deserted Route One toward Coral Gables. "Understood . . . We'll make other arrangements."

He turned to Zamora. "I'm sorry, Mister President, there's been a change of plans. We can't evacuate you by helicopter."

"Why not?"

"The enemy has air superiority. Every time we send up an aircraft, it gets shot down almost a minute later. We'll have to get you out of the city overland. We should add more vehicles and men to the convoy to ensure your safety."

Zamora nodded, staring out the window at the darkened silhouettes of nearby homes. How long before those homes were destroyed by Gigan? Would it destroy more cities? Would it just fly off into space as other Gigans had previously when sensing defeat?

He couldn't allow either to happen. He needed to regain control of the alien. Maybe they could rescue Howell.

_And how long would that take? _CEMCOR didn't have a clue where the scientist was.

Zamora wrote him off. Surely there were other scientists in this country, or elsewhere in the world, that could restore the signal. Maybe someone even smarter than Howell. He would find them. They would either help him willingly or with a gun at their head.

**XXXXX**

"My God. My God." McGovern stared out the cockpit window at the mass of flames that had been Beastmaster Three.

"Head in the game, Gov," Yamagata told him. "We still got a job to do."

McGovern turned to him. "Yeah," he answered with a slight nod.

Yamagata sympathized with his WSO. Hell, he had trouble burying what just happened. Ashby, Pena and Dillard. His squadronmates, his friends. All dead. Just like that.

He felt a tear sting the corner of his eye. He clenched the control stick so hard his hand shook. Much as he wanted to cry, to mourn, he couldn't do it here. They still had a monster to fight. They still had a country to liberate.

"Beastmaster Two. Follow me in. Nothing fancy. We're gonna hit this son-of-a-bitch with everything we've got until it goes down."

"Two, Roger."

The remaining two Excaliburs swung back toward Miami Beach. Gigan had made it to the other side of the isthmus when the jets opened up. Tracers, contrails and energy beams slashed through the night sky. Fireballs burst all over Gigan's torso. Ice from the freeze rays covered its chest. A beam from its eye blasted apart the ice around its head. Yamagata and Sharpe dodged the beam and flew past Gigan. They jinked left and right, avoiding more eye beams.

The Excaliburs came around again and unleashed another barrage. More explosions wracked Gigan. Chunks of ice coated its shoulders. The monster staggered, but remained on its feet.

"Keep at 'im!" shouted Yamagata as he flew over the bay. "We got 'im -."

A crash tore through the jet. Yamagata was thrown in all directions. The quake came and went. A numbing pain spread through his torso where the straps of his ejection seat dug into his flesh. Alarms blared in the cockpit.

"Caputo! Damage report!"

"Gigan hit us with an eye beam. Engines aren't responding."

Yamagata hit the start button. Nothing.

_C'mon, baby. Just like back at Jacksonville. _He'd nursed a damage engine all the way to Northeast Florida Regional Airport. He could do it again here.

He had to.

Yamagata hit the engine start button again, again, again.

"Engines aren't responding."

"And they won't," said Caputo. "Gigan got us with a lucky shot. Systems show total engine failure. We're goin' down!"

**XXXXX**

The pain that had drilled into every part of Gigan's body began to subside. Nanites regenerated the flesh and armor on his torso. It would take much longer for a new blade to grow on its right arm. The self-preservation protocol would have instructed Gigan to flee to some isolated area until it was fully healed. With its damaged wings, that was not an option.

It had no choice but to fight.

Gigan tracked the last of the sleek black planes that had caused it so much pain. It was now the primary threat that had to be eliminated. Energy built up in its eye, ready to be unleashed.

A dark shape burst from the water beyond Miami Beach. Gigan turned.

Godzilla roared and spat out a gusher of atomic fire.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	34. Chapter 34

Gigan twisted to the left and avoided Godzilla's fiery breath. The alien monster returned fire with its eye beam. It also missed. Godzilla roared and stomped onto the beach.

Gigan let out a screech. It crouched, then sprang at Godzilla. It extended its remaining scythe arm, aiming for the other monster's chest.

Godzilla turned to the side and brought down both arms on Gigan's back. The alien slammed into the ground. Tremors rippled through Miami Beach. Streets and buildings caved in. Gas lines ruptured. Spouts of fire shot up around Gigan.

Godzilla roared again and kicked Gigan in the side. It soared over Miami Beach and crashed near the tip of the isthmus. Gigan rolled into a pair of highrises. The buildings toppled over and smashed apart. Huge clouds of smoke and dust rose into the night sky. The monster came to a stop at the edge of the water.

Another roar blared from Godzilla's maw. He stomped down the shoreline. Gigan started to push itself to its feet. A stream of blue fire struck its chest. Chucks of flesh and organic armor exploded from its hide. Gigan screeched and rolled on its back.

Godzilla emerged from the debris cloud and stared down at Gigan. He drew his left foot back and kicked at its head.

Gigan's head snapped up. It sank its beak and mandibles into Godzilla's foot. The monster roared as blood poured over his toes and spilled onto the ground.

**XXXXX**

"Beastmaster One! Eject! Eject! Eject!"

Yamagata grabbed the lever under his seat and pulled it up. Explosive bolts popped around the outside of the Excalibur's cockpit. The canopy flew off. A hurricane wind screamed through the jet. The rocket under Yamagata's seat went off. Every bone in his body threatened to shake apart as he flew away from the plane.

The seat dropped away. Yamagata's parachute deployed. He checked below. He was floating toward Miami, lit up by a multitude of fires and tracers. He felt his chest constrict, picturing one of those tracers flying up and tearing into his body. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it!

He willed the parachute to descend faster. To his frustration, the ground didn't seem to be getting any closer.

A ball of fire appeared well to the west of Route One. It stretched out in a jagged line for several hundred yards. Yamagata clenched his jaw. That had to be his Excalibur. He sighed, then nodded toward the flaming wreckage. The plane had served him well since he joined the 1st JSCS. It had gotten him through battles with giant monsters. It had brought him home in spite of the damage it suffered.

It wouldn't bring him home this time.

_At least you went down fighting. _

His Excalibur might be gone, but he was still alive. He checked the darkened sky around him. The silhouettes of two other parachutes also floated toward Miami. Yamagata let out a sigh of relief. McGovern and Caputo had made it out okay.

Finally he was getting closer to the ground. Several large, darkened homes sat below him. So did lots of shade trees.

_Aw crap._

He closed his eyes and braced himself.

Yamagata dropped right through the branches. A constant snapping went up around him. Tiny cuts burned his neck and cheeks.

He jerked to a stop. Yamagata let out a breath and looked down. He was 20 feet from the sidewalk.

He looked around, half-expecting to see a CEMCOR patrol. Thankfully, the suburban neighborhood was deserted. He reeled out the thick nylon rope of his PDL, Personal Lowering Device, and shimmied down to the sidewalk.

When he reached solid ground, Yamagata pulled out his Beretta and made a sweep of the neighborhood. There were no patrols and no curious civilians. Given the gunfire, explosions and roaring monsters in the distance, he figured most civilians would be hunkered down inside their homes, if they were smart.

After making sure his pilot's survival vest was securely attached, Yamagata followed the first rule of his SERE – Survival, Escape Resistance and Escape – training. Get as far away from your parachute as possible. The thing that had saved his life would now serve as a beacon for enemy patrols.

Yamagata took off running. He bent at the waist and ran alongside rows of bushes. He hopped one fence after another, running across backyards. All the while he kept his head on a swivel. If some civilian saw him, he had no way to tell if the person might be a Zamora loyalist and report his location.

Yamagata kept moving. If he came across a clearing, he could use his Hook-112 survival radio to call for a rescue chopper. If he couldn't find a good LZ – Landing Zone – he'd make his way north, to the Marines' beachhead. If he linked up with them, he could get back in this fight. Even though he was a pilot, he was also a Marine, and every Marine, first and foremost, was a rifleman.

He hopped the fence into another backyard. Next he hid behind a parked car, checked the street, and crossed it. Yamagata climbed another fence and came down in another backyard.

Something growled.

Yamagata glanced at the back porch. A pitbull stared at him, teeth bared, snarling.

"You gotta be shittin' me."

He ran for it. The pitbull chased him, barking like mad. Yamagata leaped onto the fence and pulled himself up. The pitbull jumped and snapped its jaws. It missed Yamagata's leg by centimeters. He tumbled over the fence and landed on the other side. The dog continued barking.

Yamagata slammed his hand against the wooden fence. "Screw you!" He'd survived giant monsters and CEMCOR thugs. No way in hell would he let a dog do him in.

He dashed away from the fence. A barking dog would surely draw attention.

Yamagata didn't stop running until he reached a shopping plaza. He crouched behind a tree and scanned the parking lot. There were no cars, and plenty of space for a rescue chopper to land.

He reached into his survival vest for his radio.

Booted feet pounded behind him. Yamagata turned around, pistol up.

Six men in dark uniforms aimed automatic rifles at him.

**XXXXX**

Godzilla bent his head and spat out atomic fire. The explosion ripped a huge gash in Gigan's side. It let go of Godzilla's foot and shrieked.

Godzilla stomped on the wound once, twice, three times. Gigan wailed and thrashed about. It slashed with its left scythe arm. Godzilla backed away.

Gigan rose on its side. It swung its arm again. A nearby mansion shattered. A dozen trees were torn from the ground. The debris bracketed Godzilla. Gigan got to its feet and charged. It rammed Godzilla in the stomach. Both monsters tumbled to the ground.

Gigan screeched and lifted its head. It snapped down, its sharp beak burrowing into Godzilla's chest.

**XXXXX**

"Don't even think about it," said the patrol leader, a lean, bearded man who spoke with a Cuban accent. He jabbed his sleek Beretta CX4 carbine at Yamagata.

He glared at the man. He couldn't believe he'd been captured again!

"Put your gun on the ground," the leader ordered.

Still glaring, Yamagata laid his pistol on the asphalt. The leader kicked it away.

"He doesn't look like a CEMCOR guy," said a stocky man, his accent not as heavy as the leader's.

Yamagata could also say the same about them. The squad was dressed in a mix of dark civilian clothes and hunting fatigues, not the usual white-gray-black splotched urban BDUs of a CEMCOR trooper.

The leader tilted his head, sizing up Yamagata. "What's your name?"

"Major Jeffrey Yamagata, United States Marine Corps."

"Whoa, Yamagata?" blurted a muscular young man who couldn't be older than 17. "You're the guy from that monster hunting squadron."

"The one Zamora's been looking for?" the stocky guy added.

The leader lowered his rifle. "So if you're a pilot, what are you doing on the ground?"

"Gigan put a laser in my engine. Kinda tough to fly after that."

The leader smiled. "My apologies, then." He extended a hand and helped Yamagata to his feet. "Ramon Mendoza." He introduced the rest of his squad.

"Cuban exile community?" asked Yamagata.

"_Si. _My family and I escaped Cuba to get away from one dictator. Now we're living under another one, and it's one of our own. Zamora." Mendoza spat on the ground.

"Believe me, I have no love for the guy either. So what are you guys doing?"

"Keeping tabs on Route One for any CEMCOR activity. We saw a convoy of Humvees turn off on Thirty-Second Avenue. It looks like they went into Coral Gate Park."

"How far is it from here?"

"Just over there." Mendoza pointed past the shopping plaza. Yamagata saw a couple of field lights sticking up from behind a thicket of trees.

"You mind some extra company?"

"Not at all, though you might need this." Mendoza retrieved Yamagata's Beretta and handed it to him.

The seven men sprinted across the parking lot, taking cover behind trees before moving out. Some of these guys probably had previous military experience, or got some pointers from someone who'd been in uniform.

At least it wasn't a complete amateur hour.

They moved across Route One, then into a cluster of trees surrounding the park. Yamagata peered between a pair of trees. Across the softball field several vehicles were parked in a dirt lot beyond the fence. It was a mixed bag of Humvees, pick-ups, SUVs and police cars. Several men with rifles stood guard around the convoy. Definitely CEMCOR. A minute later another cop car showed up, followed by a van full of people.

"What are they doin'?" asked the muscular teen, Angel.

"My guess, it's a staging area," answered Yamagata.

"For what?" This from the stocky Cuban, Humberto.

"They might be preparing to hit our Marines north of here." Yamagata watched another Humvee pull into the lot. "We gotta stop those guys before they get back on the road."

"I think it's gonna take more than six guys with rifles to do that," said Mendoza.

Yamagata turned to him with a smile. "I think I can get us some more firepower."

He pulled out his survival radio. "Firefly, Firefly," he contacted the Search and Rescue coordinator onboard the _USS Nimitz._ "This is Beastmaster One Charlie. Copy?"

"Firefly copies, One Charlie. What is your status? Over."

"Plane shot down. All three crew bailed out over Miami. Current twenty on One Whiskey and One Sierra unknown." He used the codenames for McGovern and Caputo. "One Charlie is currently in friendly hands. We've coming across an enemy staging area at Coral Gate Park. Requesting air strike to take it out."

"One Charlie, standby."

Yamagata stood by for two minutes. In that time a squat police armored car and a pick-up arrived at the park.

A new voice came over the radio. "Beastmaster One Charlie, this is Backlash. Air strike on staging area authorized. _Buffy_ en route."

"Roger, Backlash. Target is just north of Route One, distinguished by side-by-side softball fields."

"Roger, One Charlie. ETA for _Buffy_, four minutes. Withdraw to safe position."

"Will do, Backlash." Yamagata pocketed his radio and turned to Mendoza. "C'mon. We need to be somewhere else when _Buffy_ shows up."

"_Buffy?"_ Mendoza gave him a quizzical look.

"You'll see. Actually, I'm anxious to see it for myself. Now, like I said, we need to get out of here."

Yamagata and the Cubans hurried away from the park and back to Route One. They were crouched behind some trees when he heard the revving of more than a dozen engines.

"Sounds like they're getting ready to leave," said Mendoza.

Yamagata gritted his teeth and stared up at the night sky.

_Hurry up, guys._

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	35. Chapter 35

Godzilla roared as Gigan pushed its beak deeper into his chest. He punched the alien monster in the head again and again. Gigan pulled its beak out of the large, bloody hole in Godzilla's chest and screeched.

Godzilla swatted Gigan's head. The alien rolled of him. Godzilla got to his feet and stomped Gigan's chest. It raised its remaining scythe arm, still coated in ice from the Excalibur attack and struck Godzilla in the hip. Large chunks of ice broke off from the blade. Gigan hit him again. More ice shattered.

Godzilla backed away as Gigan swung again, missing. It got back on its feet and screeched. Godzilla growled. Pain squeezed his chest as blood flowed down his torso. Still he kept his eyes on Gigan and his arms up, ready to fight.

Gigan charged. Godzilla roared and charged. The monsters smashed into each other. Shockwaves shot through Godzilla's entire body. He withstood the blow and pushed. Both he and Gigan toppled into the slip of water between Miami Beach and Fisher Island. Waves surged over the shorelines.

Godzilla grabbed Gigan by the stump of its right arm and hurled it over Fisher Island. It crashed into an oil plant on the small island's northern tip. Tanks were crushed under its bulk. Thousands of gallons of crude spread over the concrete surface and spilled into the water.

A jet of blue flame shot from Godzilla's mouth. It struck one of the crumpled oil tanks.

A massive, fiery orange ball consumed the oil plant. It rose well over a hundred feet in the sky. The firestorm consumed nearby homes, trees, docked boats . . .

And Gigan.

Godzilla tramped across the northern tip of the island. His feet came down on huge swaths of flame. The heat barely penetrated his toughened hide. He stared at the hellish scene before him, looking for any sign of Gigan.

He found none.

Godzilla continued to stare at the blaze, flicking his tail. He took a step closer to the oil plant.

Gigan rose through the flames. It fired its eye laser. The beam hit the bloody gash in Godzilla's chest. Fire, smoke and blood burst from it. Godzilla wailed and fell on his back.

Gigan screeched and jumped out of the fire toward the fallen monster.

**XXXXX**

Yamagata's gaze switched between the sky and Coral Gate Park. He heard a low rumble in the distance. That had to be _Buffy._

More engines revved in the park. He also heard car doors slamming. The CEMCOR convoy would be driving away in less than a minute. Maybe they'd split up and hit the Marines in different places. Maybe they'd travel through residential neighborhoods, meaning they couldn't carry out an air strike without lots of civilian casualties.

They had to get this convoy while it was still massed in one location.

Yamagata turned to the Cubans. "Anyone got any explosives? Grenades? C4? Anything?"

"I whipped up some Molotov Cocktails," A skinny, mustached rebel named Ozzie removed a backpack an opened it. It contained half-a-dozen glass bottles with rags sticking out the top.

Yamagata grabbed two of them.

"What are you doing?" asked Mendoza.

"We gotta hold up that convoy until _Buffy _gets here. Cover me."

Yamagata sprinted across the street and into the park. He held the Molotovs between the crook of his elbow and his side as he reached into his survival vest and pulled out a small plastic bottle of BCB Survival Storm Matches. He ran under a line of trees separating the two ballfields, lungs burning and legs tightening.

Yamagata ignored the discomfort when he saw a Humvee exit the dirt lot. A pick-up followed it. He removed a match and dragged it across the striker on the bottle cap. The long head lit up in a brilliant orange glow. He stopped, lit both Molotovs and shoved the matches back in his vest. Yamagata judged the distance between him and the dirt lot. Probably fifty feet. He'd thrown baseballs a hell of a lot farther than that when he played for San Jose State.

But a Molotov Cocktail was a lot different from a baseball.

He ran, a bottle in each hand. The armored SWAT van pulled out of the lot. A police car was about to follow.

At thirty feet, Yamagata let the Molotov fly. It hit the front left wheel well of the cop car. Flames swept over the tire and up the side. The car jerked to a stop.

The Humvee behind it crashed into its fender. That Humvee got rear-ended by another, blocking the exit.

Yamagata threw the other Molotov. It burst between the two Humvees. He turned and ran, pulling out his Beretta. Yamagata twisted around and fired.

A deep, chugging sound cut through the air. He recognized it instantly. A .50 caliber machine gun.

Yamagata threw himself on the ground. Large rounds cracked over his head. They tore huge chunks out of a nearby scoreboard.

More gunfire erupted. Rifle fire. Yamagata saw muzzle flashes among the trees lining the park. It had to be Mendoza and his Cuban rebels.

He also heard another sound, like a never-ending thunderclap.

There was no time to crawl, no time to move from cover to cover. He had to get out of the park now or he was dead.

Yamagata sprang to his feet and ran for all he was worth. He zigzagged left and right, not wanting to give the CEMCOR gunners an easy target.

A burst of .50 caliber rounds punched through a light pole and some trees behind him. He ran even faster.

Yamagata ducked into the treeline at the front of the park. He spotted Mendoza and his men firing at the stalled CEMCOR convoy on the other side of the field.

"Go! Go! Go!"

They fled from the park and across Route One. The thunderous roar from above turned deafening.

"Holy shit! Is that a B-52?" Humberto looked skyward.

Yamagata looked up. A large aircraft with swept wings, eight engines and a stubby nose came in low over Miami. It was indeed a B-52, the one resurrected from The Boneyard and dubbed _Buffy the Vampire Slayer. _Buffy, after the bomber's nickname BUFF – Big Ugly Fat Fellow – and "Vampire Slayer," well, just because.

_Buffy_ dipped its port wing as it neared Coral Gate Park.

Yamagata and the Cubans ran for a cinderblock wall. They climbed over it and dropped into the parking lot of an office building.

_Buffy _loomed overhead. Its entire port side lit up with a dozen flashes. Tracers rained down from it. The strategic bomber-turned-gunship unleashed 20mm, 30mm and 50 caliber rounds.

Yamagata peeked over the fence. Trees in the park fell over. Scoreboards and press boxes exploded into splinters. Sparks and flames shot up from the convoy.

Just like that, the barrage ended. The B-52 known as _Buffy the Vampire Slayer _soared away from the carnage it had created.

**XXXXX**

"Blade" Sharpe winced as Gigan landed right on Godzilla's gut. The mutant dinosaur rolled away, clutching his midsection. As tough as Godzilla was, even he couldn't stand up to 50,000 tons of monster crashing down on him.

Gigan kicked Godzilla. He rolled over a golf course and a cluster of tennis courts before smashing through a condominium complex. Gigan hit him in the back with an eyebeam. Sparks jumped off Godzilla's armored plates.

"The big guy's in some deep shit," said Essian from his sensor station behind Sharpe.

The pilot just nodded as he watched Gigan stomp toward the fallen Godzilla. _Can anything go our way in this fight?_

They'd already lost Beastmaster Three. He still couldn't believe Ashby, Pena and Dillard were all dead. He saw three good chutes after Beastmaster One went down, but were Yamagata, McGovern and Caputo all right on the ground?

_Nothing you can do to help them right now. _There was only one thing he could do. Even though his was the last Excalibur flying, "Blade" Sharpe's job was to defend the country against giant monster attacks.

There was a giant monster below. Even though President Zamora no longer controlled it, it could still cause a lot of death and destruction.

Sharpe could not allow that to happen.

"What say we give Godzilla a hand?"

**XXXXX**

"Damn."

Yamagata didn't think there was a better way to sum up the scene before them than Mendoza's muttered comment.

The ballfields were torn up. Branches and tree trunks littered the fields and walkways. Smoke wafted over the park, carrying with it the stench of burnt rubber, metal and flesh. Beyond the remains of the outfield fence lay more than a dozen shredded and burning vehicles.

Pistol up, Yamagata stepped through a gap in the fence. The Cubans followed. Yamagata swept left to right, looking for survivors. Maybe they could get some intel from them on CEMCOR forces in Miami.

All he saw were bodies, some missing limbs and heads, some with their stomachs and chests blown open, a few literally cut in half. Yamagata felt and heard squishes under his feet from ground saturated with blood.

Someone puked behind him. It sounded like the teen, Angel. Another Cuban puked. Yamagata couldn't blame them. His stomach was roiling from the gore around him.

"Hey, Major," Mendoza called from a nearby Humvee. "I think I recognize these two."

Yamagata jogged over to him. He stared into the Humvee, its hood and roof sporting several fist-sized holes. A man and a woman lay slumped against the left and right side windows respectively. Both were covered in blood.

Yamagata recognized them, too, from past news broadcasts. Thomas Burleson, the Director of CEMCOR, and Erica Horton, the President's Chief of Staff.

If those two were part of this convoy . . .

"Everyone spread out. We need to find -"

Someone moaned near a burning Humvee. Yamagata hurried over to it. Two men lay one the ground, one white and in CEMCOR fatigues, the other dark-skinned and in a suit. The CEMCOR trooper had blood running down his right side and forehead. The man in the suit bled from his leg and shoulder. Probably hit by shrapnel, Yamagata figured. The guns the B-52 carried wouldn't leave anyone wounded.

The CEMCOR trooper rolled onto his side. He locked eyes with Yamagata.

"M-Mister . . ." He went for a Mac-10 machine pistol in a shoulder rig. "Pres-"

Mendoza and Humberto fired their rifles. The CEMCOR trooper went into spasms, then dropped on his back.

Eyes narrowed, Yamagata stalked over to the man in the suit. He bent down, grabbed the wounded shoulder and turned him over. The man let out a yelp of pain.

"Mister President."

Yamagata hauled Horatio Zamora to his feet.

"My leg." He grimaced. "It hurts."

"Tell someone who gives a damn." Yamagata dragged him to the Humvee containing Horton's and Burleson's bodies and shoved him against the side.

"Zamora?" Mendoza glared at the injured President. A stream of harsh Spanish flew out of the Cuban's mouth. Yamagata knew many of the words. They were some of the foulest curses in that language, taught to him over the years by a few Hispanic friends.

"We all came to this country to escape Castro's rule, and you became just like him!" Mendoza spat at Zamora. "You're a pig! You spit in the face of everyone who ever risked their lives to flee Cuba and come here to live in freedom. Burn in hell, you _puta!"_

Mendoza brought up his rifle.

"Wait!" Yamagata's held up his hand.

"What the hell?" Mendoza shouted. "This piece of filth deserves a bullet in his brain."

"We're not going to do that."

"Thank you," Zamora said. "Thank you."

Yamagata grabbed The President by the collar and slammed him against the Humvee's door. "Don't you dare thank me, you son-of-a-bitch. Believe me, I am sorely tempted to hand you over to these guys and let them do whatever they want to you. But what I want is for you to stand trial. I want the world to hear every single crime you've committed. I want you to receive the harshest punishment possible, and make every potential dictator out there think twice before they try to take over this or any other country."

He let go of Zamora and stepped back. The President grabbed his injured shoulder and glared at him. "Traitor."

"I'm a traitor?"

"I've read your file. You, more than anyone, should see what I'm doing is right. I sought justice to all the people in this country who've been wronged by the white ruling class, the same ones who put your grandparents and great-grandparents in prison camps in World War Two, simply because of their skin color. Yet you fight for the same country who did that to your family. You're not just a traitor. You're a coward."

Yamagata took a slow breath before speaking. "Was what happened to my grandparents and great-grandparents wrong? Yes, it was. But that was in the past. There is nothing, you, I or anyone can do to change that. The best we can do is go forward and make sure things like that never happen again. But that's not what you want to do, is it? You talk about bringing people together, but you throw race and class envy into every issue to keep this country divided. You blame whole groups of people for the wrongs in this country that were committed by people who've been dead for decades, even centuries."

"They need to pay!" shouted Zamora. "They need to know what it's like to be treated like second-class citizens, to live with someone's boot on their throat."

"And what will that accomplish? More resentment? More hatred?"

"I was going to end hatred."

Yamagata shook with anger. "'End hatred?' You can actually say that after you used Gigan to murder millions of Americans, of all races and backgrounds? After you used CEMCOR to lock up thousands of people just because they didn't agree with your beliefs? You say you want to end hatred? You did all this because of hate. The hatred you have for everything this country stands for."

Zamora shook his head. "You blind, patriotic fool. You don't have the intellect to appreciate and understand my vision for this country." He turned to Mendoza's exiles. "None of you do!"

Zamora's gaze returned to Yamagata. "Go ahead, Major. Arrest me, put me on trial. I'll use it as a stage to inspire others to carry on my noble work. My words will give birth to a worldwide movement that will ultimately eradicate all those who worship hate and greed you murderers in your fancy uniforms. And there is nothing you can do to silence me!"

Yamagata rammed the butt of his pistol into Zamora's jaw. He collapsed to the ground.

"Wanna bet?"

**XXXXX**

Sharpe put the Excalibur into a dive. All of Gigan's attention was focused on Godzilla.

_Please let it stay that way._

He put the digital crosshairs over the back of Gigan's head. The alien monster raised its left scythe arm, ready to bring it down on Godzilla.

Sharpe fired the particle beam cannons. Sparks exploded off Gigan's head. Sharpe launched his last plasma-yield missile and banked away.

**XXXXX**

Gigan turned just as the missile struck it. The intense heat of the plasma energy scorched its face and glowing red eye. The alien cried out in agony and stomped in circles.

Godzilla got to his feet. He roared and punched Gigan in the head. He then drew back his hand and drove it forward. The claws tore through Gigan's eye. Godzilla dug deeper into the alien's head. He hooked his claws into something round and fleshy and pulled. A spherical object came out of Gigan's eye, dragging several tendrils behind it. Godzilla looked down at the other monster's brain in his hand. He roared, dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot.

Gigan stayed on its feet for nearly half-a-minute. It then fell on its back.

Godzilla stared at it for a bit. Slowly, his mouth opened. A blow glow surrounded his armored plates. Atomic fire burst from Godzilla's maw. It washed over Gigan's head. Blue flame surged through the opening where its eye had been and traveled down its insides.

A massive cloud of orange and black rose into the night. A thunderous roar followed split-second later. The blast threw Godzilla into the ocean. It took a couple of minutes for the great monster to recover. When he did, he resurfaced and swept his eyes over Fisher Island. An inferno covered the northern half of the island.

Nothing remained of Gigan.

A calm settled over Godzilla. The buzzing that had been in his head, the one that warned him of grave threats to the planet, subsided.

Godzilla lifted his head to the sky and let out a triumphant roar.

_**NEXT: THE CONCLUSION**_


	36. Chapter 36

_NAVAL AIR STATION KEY WEST, FLORIDA: FIVE DAYS LATER_

Even with all the turmoil in the country, the military bureaucracy still had to be satisfied.

Yamagata sat in a small office at the far end of the terminal building tapping on an iPad. He sent requisitions forms for more parts and ordnance to US Northern Command, along with the report "Blade" Sharpe sent over detailing his last patrol. Aside from burning up a lot of avgas, nothing happened. Nothing had happened on any of his patrols the past three days. The capture of President Zamora had taken the steam out of all but the most die-hard members of CEMCOR.

Yamagata also sent a report to NORTHCOM on the search parties he'd sent to Fisher Island. The biggest piece of Gigan they found could fit in the trunk of a car. No one was going to put that cybernetic monster back together.

An email came in from NORTHCOM, telling him Zamora's cell phone/control device had been completely taken apart. Yamagata had been tempted to stomp on the damn thing when he captured the Dictator-in-Chief, but figured it would be a key piece of evidence in his trial.

Even without the phone, Yamagata didn't see how there could be any other verdict than guilty for Zamora. The only question was would the murderous slime get life in prison or the death penalty.

Yamagata groaned as he took care of more "paperwork." Duty rosters, patrol schedules, maintenance schedules, times for staff meetings.

_I'd rather be flying._

But with General Griffin in custody on charges of treason, Yamagata became the de facto commanding officer of the 1st Joint Special Combat Squadron.

Such as it was.

They had suffered many losses during what was now called The Second Civil War. Two of their three MF-3 Excaliburs had been reduced to charred pieces of metal. It would take some time to reconstitute the squadron. Probably a long time given the state of the country. But Yamagata had no doubt that one day, the 1st JSCS would be back on its feet.

And in the air.

Someone knocked. He looked up to see Nicole standing in the doorway.

"It's almost time."

"Good." Yamagata set down his iPad and got to its feet. He'd had been looking forward to this.

He walked with Nicole to the lounge. Several members of the squadron gathered around a wall-mounted TV. Yamagata and Nicole stood beside McGovern, Caputo, Sharpe, Dillard and Master Sergeant Hernandez.

"Did I miss anything?" asked Yamagata.

"Just the usual BS from the reporters to fill time," answered Sharpe.

Yamagata stared up at the TV. The two commentators, a male and female, prattled on and on and on. He checked his watch. The ceremony should begin in a few minutes. He wished it would start now. The sooner they did it, the better.

The commentators kept talking. Yamagata tuned them out and thought of his family. His parents and grandparents were all home, safe and sound, in Pullman, Washington. He also talked to his sister, Jade, in Anchorage. She, too, was fine. Alaska, it turned out, had come through the Second Civil War relatively unscathed. Its isolation from CONUS – Continental United States – and the very small CEMCOR presence in that state were big reasons why.

The scene on the TV changed to a red brick Georgian style building with a bell tower and a large clock. Independence Hall in Philadelphia, where the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4th, 1776, thus giving birth to the United States of America.

With Washington DC in ruin, Yamagata couldn't think of a more fitting place for this ceremony.

The camera zoomed in on a podium crowded with people in front of the building. They all rose when the door to Independence Hall opened. Out stepped President-elect David Stanton. He had been kept in "protective custody" by CEMCOR forces throughout the Second Civil War. Three days ago, a special ops team from NORTHCOM freed Stanton. Now the former Governor of Texas was ready to take his rightful place in the body politic.

A short woman with coiffed dark hair and a robe stood by the lectern. Supreme Court Justice Anne Holloman, the most senior of the three surviving justices. That would be one of Stanton's biggest tasks, putting together an almost entirely new Supreme Court.

There would be a lot of new representatives and senators, too, given how many had died in Gigan's attack on DC. Many federal departments and agencies also had to be restored. Maybe Stanton could use the opportunity to make them smaller and more efficient, instead of bloated and intrusive.

Justice Holloman held up a Bible. Stanton placed his hand on it and recited the Oath of Office.

"I, David William Stanton, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help me God."

Yamagata let out a sigh of relief. It was official. America had a new President.

Stanton faced the crowd, and the cameras, in front of Independence Hall. "My fellow Americans, these last few weeks have been among the most trying and tragic in the history of our great nation. Many of our cities are in ruin. Millions are dead and injured. We all had our freedoms stripped from us by a man who violated his Oath of Office in the most unconscionable way possible."

A more determined expression formed on Stanton's face. "But I guarantee you, Horacio Zamora will pay for the crimes he committed against this country and its citizens, so will any personnel of CEMCOR, the military and local, state and federal law enforcement agencies who knowingly committed murder, unlawful detainment of US citizens and other violations of The Constitution during Zamora's reign of terror. As my first act as President of the United States, I hereby abolish the Civilian Emergency Mobilization Corps, otherwise known as CEMCOR, effective immediately."

That earned Stanton applause, not just from the audience in Philadelphia, but from the squadron members in the lounge.

The new President continued.

"In the aftermath of our first civil war, our nation was broken. But we rebuilt, and we emerged from that bloody conflict united and strong. Now, in the aftermath of our second civil war, our nation is broken, but we will rebuild it."

More applause.

"But I do not just mean that we will rebuild our cities," said Stanton. "We must also rebuild ourselves. For decades, we have watched this country grow more and more divided. Divided by ideology, divided by race, divided by socio-economic status. Civil conversations devolved into bitter arguments. Those with different beliefs and opinions no longer became people we simply disagreed with, they became enemies. Instead of trying to fix these problems, some people chose to take advantage of them for their own purposes, people like Horacio Zamora."

Stanton paused, scanning the audience. "We can be better than that. We _must_ be better, if this nation is to survive and prosper. This is not a change that can be decreed by a politician, nor should it. The change must come in each and every one of you. We must resolve to respect the right of an individual to express their views, whether we agree with them or not, and to not intimidate or shame that individual into silence simply because they have a different opinion. We must resolve to not prevent people from celebrating cherished holidays and traditions, or practicing their faith, for no other reason than we simply don't like it. We must resolve to rid ourselves of petty jealousy over those who have accomplished great things across this country, and instead hold them up as examples of what any of us can achieve if we put our minds to it. We must stop looking to bureaucrats sitting in government offices who don't even know you to provide for your every single need, and instead control your own destiny to improve your life. This message also applies to those of us in government. Not only must we rebuild our institutions, but we must rebuild ourselves. We must put the good of the country ahead of the good of our parties. We must trust in the American people that they know better than us how to live their lives, what schools to send their children to, what doctors to go to, what cars to buy. Most importantly, we must stop spending money we do not have, pushing this country further into debt, and we must stop taking more and more money from hard-working Americans to make up for our irresponsible spending. American families must live within their means, and it is time the government does the same."

The audience responded with loud applause.

"I am under no illusions. I know this change will not happen overnight. But this is a challenge we must rise to, because if we fail at this, we risk creating the same poisoned atmosphere that gave rise to a tyrant like Horacio Zamora."

"Let's hope he means it," said Nicole.

Yamagata looked at her, then back at the TV. Something in his gut told him Stanton was being sincere. At least, he better be. He did not want to fire on fellow Americans ever again.

Even if Stanton talked a better game than he delivered, Yamagata could adopt some of the things the new president said in his speech.

He considered himself a good man, but he could always be a better one. He could commit himself to be the best Marine, the best officer and the best pilot possible. He would defend the First Amendment anywhere, in the cockpit of a fighter jet, on social media, even walking down the street. He would do his best to inspire others to work hard and be a credit to this country.

He glanced back to Nicole and slid his fingers over her hand. Maybe someday, he would have the chance to be the best husband possible.

If a large number of Americans lived up to those principles, Yamagata had no doubt the country would overcome this tragedy and be great again.

_**THE END**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_Thank you for reading this story. If you liked this, you'll enjoy my other Godzilla stories, "Return of Titanosaurus," "Rise of the Mechakongs" and "Operation Death Knell." There's also my Gamera fic "Gamera the Defender." And be sure to check out my original alien invasion novel "Dark Wings," available at Amazon and smashwords dot com._


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